“Come in. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual.
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