It was the girl. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard.
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