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. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. "What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at lunch?" Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing.
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