She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. The air was crisp and dry. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. She looked in the rear-view mirror. " "True, and I shan't be easy till my turn arrives.
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