“No, no,” she cried. ’ ‘Gad, but she’s a beauty,’ gasped Hilary, and slammed his sword back in its scabbard. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom.
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