“Look here,” he cried out of a silence, with a sudden flash of understanding,
“did you mean to throw me over when you came out with me this afternoon?”
Ann Veronica hesitated, and with a startled mind realized the truth. The comtesse always felt
Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. But not today. 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. Her situation was
perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic,
and provocative of discussion. From her stomacher, to which it was attached by a multitude of glittering steel
chains, depended an immense turnip-shaped watch, in a pinchbeck case. He was going to tell me something—
and he shut up. A single glance served to
show the thief-taker how matters stood. Part 6
When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve in
her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she
uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally.
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