“It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Do not disquiet yourself. ‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said slowly. I am going to ask him to finish it. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. You make of me once more a game? Eh bien, I have told your friend that I will kill you, and if you will give me my dagger this minute, I shall do so at once.
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