His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Great stone staircases leading no one knew whither, and long gloomy passages, impressed the occasional visitor with the idea that he was traversing a building of vast extent; and, though this was not the case in reality, the deception was so cleverly contrived that it seldom failed of producing the intended effect. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts.
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