Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. We simply can’t get away. Murder had become nothing to her. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life. You will be with me. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars.
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