Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. If you can tell me nothing I don’t already know, so be it. White?” she asked, laughing. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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