This woman, contrary to his custom, he answered. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. E. 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 grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. He parried without apparent effort. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. My friend the doctor suspected it, and so do I.
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