” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. ” “Auntie?” asked Constance, who was conversant with Ann Veronica’s affairs. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. ” Michelle looked at her more inquisitively. ” Michelle started to sob. “I remember hearing something about it. Then she would write and tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new footing. I’ve had a lot on my mind. You know the sort of thing.
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