“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. The perception of him flooded her being. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness.
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