She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry would be for the next three weeks. “Mr. I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband—I have only him. 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. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. I do not love you. Tell me about your island. He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the Sunday.
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