“I want to lay all my life at your feet. “You are quite right, I think. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged. No one would ever know what happened to him. While I have been pestering you, have you heard it? At least, you heard the first act. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. " "Pray cease this nonsense," said Winifred, "and quit the room, or I will call for assistance.
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