She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. It was easy enough to lie to anyone else. “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. Ruth returned to the table.
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