A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. It seems to me exactly what is wanted. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. I was born on an island in the South Seas. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl.
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