I sat within a few feet of him. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. The shock and distress were genuine. 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. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. " "It wouldn't surprise me if he did," remarked Griffin.
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