Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. ” She found her muscles a-tremble. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Mike was showing his territorial instincts, brought out by the fact that he was drunk.
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