No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. “We don’t let to ladies,” they said. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me.
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