E. We are expecting a visit from Sir John Ferringhall at any moment. Anna and her escort exchanged glances. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries. Don't shake so. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. “I will take a carriage,” she said, “and fetch my things. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror.
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