She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. It wound around a small manufactured lake. ‘That would have grieved Jarvis. If only one might open the shutters and let in the light. 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.
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