“NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. And taking the keys, he departed on the errand. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. The stores, the drying bins, McClintock's bungalows and the native huts sprawled around an exquisite landlocked lagoon.
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