She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. “I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. “We shall try again later.
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