’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. 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. “Then there was a motor accident only an hour or so after this ceremony, and Hill was reported to be killed. Laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page.
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