"
"Yes, I have heard of that," said Philip.
He waited for Jeanne, and saw that her fingers were nervously
twisting a bit of ribbon in her lap.
"Of course, that is uninteresting," she continued. "You can almost
guess the rest. We have lived here--alone. Not one of us has ever
felt the desire to leave this little world of ours. It is curious
--you may scarcely believe what I say--but it is true that we look
out upon your big world and laugh at it and dislike it. I guess--
that I have been taught to hate it--since I can remember."
There was a little tremble in Jeanne's voice, an instant's
quivering of her chin. Philip looked from her face into the fire,
and stared hard, choking back words which were ready to burst from
his lips. In place of them he said, with a touch of bitterness in
his voice:
"And I have grown to hate my world, Jeanne. It has compelled me to
hate it. That is why I spoke to you that night on the cliff at
Churchill."
"I have sometimes thought that I have been very wrong," said the
girl. "I have never seen this other world. I know nothing of it,
except as I have been taught. I have no right to hate it, and yet
I do. I have never wanted to see it. I have never cared to know
the people who lived in it.
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