There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. As long as Larry and I meet the boy first, he can take you out. “My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. I wanted the magic of love. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. Parbleu, but must she do this all through the house? Evidently she must, for not only could she not properly see the paintings and portraits that hung on the walls, but she was in imminent danger of bumping into the sheet-shrouded furniture. 1. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow.
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