She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. . I can't spare you at present.
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