I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. That is so awful. 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. “Indeed I shall not forget your offer. "It's a great world," was the manager's greeting. It was from Brendon.
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