She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. 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. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Ah, no, I have it wrong. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. My engagement at the ‘Garrick’ terminates Saturday week, and then I am free.
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