She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. “But have you ever thought that you might be attracting negative attention to yourself by looking like you do? Like I said, don’t take it personally. It hit her just above the knee. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. He gripped the window-sill behind him.
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