Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. He destroyed her clumsily made dolls whenever he found them. 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. Sooner or later we’ll certainly do something to clean those prisons you told me about—limewash the underside of life.
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