She loved to be told to do things. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. "One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns. She’s taken my sword. ” On the inside she felt her muscles loosen with relief. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through.
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