And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. "Do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand.
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