It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. She had seen a man’s head steal out for a moment and draw the curtains a little closer. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. If you can tell me nothing I don’t already know, so be it. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Lucy sized up the girl. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey.
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