They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars.
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