Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. \"So John, are you two lovebirds going to the Junior Prom or what?\" He paused, smirking. A door slammed. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it. 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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