Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. "I tell 'ee what, master, if you're more fortinate nor I am, and get ashore, give old saltwater your fare. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. ” She looked at him quizzically and shrugged.
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