“I had a dream in the night,” she said. ’ Tears glistened in her eyes. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. We can’t. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. 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. You don’t have to live forever to understand that.
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