Then a surge of rage welled up. Nice lady. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the word “lover. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot.
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