She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. She entered the kitchen. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door.
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This video was uploaded to mine-tec.com on 09-07-2024 11:01:02
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