She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. ‘He was our first commander, and a more stiff-necked—’ ‘Exactly so,’ concurred Lady Bicknacre.
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