The end of Bright and Distant Shores unhinged me for reasons I find myself unable to explain adequately here. This passage, in particular.
He thought abut the Kanaka boys in the sugar plantations of Queensland and the stories of them dying from homesickness. Actual death from longing. They would stop eating, work listlessly in the fields all day, speak to no one, then quietly slip away one night. Death of the soul, he thought. What good are we without a candle burning behind the glass?
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