Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. I would even have taken a place as waitress in a tea shop. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. These sham ideals and advanced notions. 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.
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