She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. "Let us sit here," she said, indicating the white sand bordering the lagoon; "and in a minute or two you will see something quite wonderful. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing. "I have some difficulty in preventing myself from becoming your executioner. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically.
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