CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. Nothing can alter my determination. To O'Higgins—for all his sordid business he was not insensible to beauty—to O'Higgins she appeared to have entered the room with the light. I want to be a human being; I want to learn about things and know about things, and not to be protected as something too precious for life, cooped up in one narrow little corner. Then the foremost bowed and passed on. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said.
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