She turned off the light and approached the window. It’s—it’s a social difference. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. She recoiled. Vorsack. ‘No, but I seen the light, sir. Although she did not understand why he persisted in this pursuit of her affairs. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. And now, Sir Rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture.
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