She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. CHAPTER I. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. ” “It was behind the Place de Vendome, on the other side from the Ritz. ’ Turning, she climbed over the low haha wall.
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