She looked at him mournfully. ” “And I may bring my luggage in and send that cabman away?” Anna asked. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. 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. What was his problem, she thought to herself. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. Losing his presence of mind, Jack quitted his hold, and dropped upon the frame. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert.
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