‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. Perhaps in the beginning the women made fools of themselves over him. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. 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. She was consumed by misery and hate.
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