His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. He never felt any need to explain himself. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. Fifty sent home. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then.
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