Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. I shan't let you off a farthing. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it.
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