I killed him, Nigel. ’ Her gaze followed the butler, who was moving towards the door. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. She saw his finger pull back on the hammer of the gun and shrieked a warning just as Jack launched himself forward and Gosse turned and fired. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room.
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