After that night she made it a habit. ” Ennison thought so too half an hour later, when having cut out from one of the bridge tables he settled down for a chat with Annabel. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. 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. " "Are they good?" "He can write; but he hasn't found anything real to write about. Gerald crossed back to the window. The boat was set free, and the men resumed their seats. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. Jack turned away with an aching heart.
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