You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. Quite soon, after we were married—it was just within a year—I formed a friendship with the wife of a friend, a woman eight years older than myself. He offered me at once an engagement. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. “I will tell you something if you like. Everyone has gone away again, so that I can do so all alone. ‘And your schooling?’ he pursued. It was, in a way, something of a joke to the doctor: psychology and physiognomy on an island which white folks did not visit more than three or four times a year, only then when they had to. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. “Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed.
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