She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. Jonathan had to feel his way. The freezing water reached her chin and she felt the heat of her body dispersing, creating a disappearing patch of warmth as her limbs froze. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. Such revelations she hoped would be considered out of place and inappropriate. I can be a gentleman.
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