I don't want her.

I won't have her.

I don't want to see her.

I don't care if the whole of Biggs's nieces, in solemn conclave, with old Biggs at their head, had formally discussed the whole matter, and finally resolved unanimously that she should be mine.

Good Lord, man! don't you understand how it is?
What the mischief do I care about any body?
Do you think I went through that fiery furnace for nothing?
And what do you suppose that life on the island meant?
Is all that nothing?
Did you ever live on an island with the child-angel?
Did you ever make a raft for her and fly?
Did you ever float down a river current between banks burned black by raging fires, feeding her, soothing her, comforting her, and all the while feeling in a general fever about her?
You hauled her out of a crater, did you?
By Jove! And what of that?
Why, that furnace that I pulled Ethel out of was worse than a hundred of your craters.