She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. " "I know what is good," she replied. ” “I thought I explained—” “I don’t think you can have heard me,” said her father; “I have told you to come home. No: I must face it out.
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