“Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. "Well, since you force me to betray my master's secrets," replied Quilt, sullenly, "I've ridden express to Manchester to deliver a message to Sir Rowland.
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