” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. ” They talked for a while in somewhat dreamy fashion, Anna especially being more silent than usual. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. 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.
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