“What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. She had no idea what she should do. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Turning, she flew for the nearest door. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad.
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