‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. “Which is Mr. "And I want to thank you, too," supplemented Ruth. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison. His employer retreated into the further apartment, leaving the door ajar. 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. Ann Veronica was not aware of this literary side of her teacher; she had a little tinge of annoyance at Miss Garvice’s advantage.
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