An Island to Oneself
On August 4, 1953 -- ten months after I had landed -- I welcomed my first visitors.
It was unexpected because I had long since stopped wondering whether one day I would wake up to discover a strange yacht or schooner anchored in the lagoon. I had become so engrossed with my life on Suvarov that I rarely gave a thought to the outside world.
They were very happy days. I was never lonely, though now and again I would walk along the reef wishing somebody could be with me -- not because I wanted company but just because all this beauty seemed too perfect to keep to myself.
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