9. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. I'll be with you in a jiffy. ” “May I put you in a hansom?” he asked, lifting his stick. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. I'll go with you.
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