They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. I do not wish for you to see me feed. ‘They cannot help it. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utter loneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the father visited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below their actual importance.
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