His eyes were red. E. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. The entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing Sheppard's loud laughter at their discomfiture. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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