" "Where are they?" "Ay, where are they?" chorussed the mob, flourishing their various weapons, and flashing their torches in the air; "we'll starve 'em out. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. 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. This time they would call it murder. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing.
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