"I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here. Wily little devil she is. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. ” Ann Veronica sat with her chin on her hand, red-lit and saying little, and Miss Miniver discoursed. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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