The few whites he had ever known generally offered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. It is not for myself I fear. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. “Damned Rascal!” he said. 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. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel.
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