He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. They then entered the room, which was perfectly dark. He thrust into her slowly at first, astonished at the natural amount of resistance and unexpected friction which nearly drove him to come instantaneously. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed. A young man was playing the banjo. Brother and Sister VIII.
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