She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. “Not only that,” he answered. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. She continued to fan herself. “I hope that you are going to allow me to see something of you during your stay in London, for the sake of old times. Go to her and tell her. ’ ‘I am not the imbecile you take me for,’ Gerald said with dangerous calm. Wood hadn't struck me.
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