” She fumbled with her keys and opened the front door. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. ‘Just around it, Hilary, that’s all. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying.
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