I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. 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. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. She looked at her flattened belly. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. He contrasted with Russell, whose intellectual methods were, so to speak, sceptically dogmatic. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. Go to her. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. D'ye hear. . He suddenly became eloquent and plausible.
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