The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. His hands came up, his face broke apart. And she would have to go tomorrow. I am bored to distraction. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. . She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation.
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