She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. She could not see any relief from this anxiety except repayment, and repayment seemed impossible. Cathy commented, “You look very nice, Lucy. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. No matter how much you tell me, you will always keep something back. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. " "Holloa! my hearty!" cried Ben, starting to his feet. .
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