" He offered cigars, and Ruth got up. 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. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. ” He said flaccidly. Only the strong survived. But I was portentous, I can assure you. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. ’ ‘I don’t know that there is so much to tell. . If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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