There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. ” “Sounds interesting,” Ennison remarked.
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