. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. ” She had no way of retaliating, so she made a decision. It’s a mismatch. ’ She tossed her head. Not Trodger.
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