She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links.
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