’ ‘Oh, this is becoming nonsensical,’ exclaimed Lucilla. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. ‘That’s what comes of disarming yourself. She thought me— filthy.
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