She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. ’ ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. She knew now that he never would. " The doctor sent her a sharp, quizzical glance. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1. \"Word gets round.
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