And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. I’ll give you an uncrossed check, and then you can get it at the bank here, quite close by. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. 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. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess.
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