Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. ” He threw open the door of the sitting-room and switched on the electric light. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge.
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