The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. 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. But supposing he is? Supposing he made but one misstep? Your island would be a haven of security.
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