She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. I must not let you go again. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. His friendship seemed a thing worth having.
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