"Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ” “How delightful!” exclaimed Anna. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. " "Who are they?" inquired Sheppard. Mac, she's the honestest human being I ever saw or heard of; and at the same time she is velvet over steel.
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