"I'm tired of the life I'm leading. Sailors would leave them at the trader's. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. For all the enervating heat, he applied himself vigorously to his tasks. Her sister had told him that it was true. And a time will come, Veronica, mark my words, a time will come when you will bless me for my firmness to-night. The Wastrel did not relish this. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills.
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