Instinctively she imitated this action, chilled and a little frightened at the expression of terror that confronted her. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. I wonder what it was. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. 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. She waited for him to leave the room, and turned back to Gerald.
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