“I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. “I shall have to go through the building. “Better state of mind,” she gasped. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. “You are an impostor. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words.
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