She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. ‘Oh, peste. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway.
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