“The Widgetts,” she said. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. He spoke only when he saw the sing-song girl he wanted to buy. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in.
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