CHAPTER XIX. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. Except for a few early ebullitions of passion, natural to a warm and romantic disposition, and leaving no harmful after-effects—ebullitions that by the standards of the higher truth I feel no one can justly cast a stone at, and of which I for one am by no means ashamed—I come to you a pure and unencumbered man. They were horrible people. She would have to move on to a more lawless country soon, Mexico, Columbia, then cross the sea where she could eventually return to the chaos of Eastern Europe and the Russias. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. "These writer chaps are queer birds.
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