F. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. Expiation. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. 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. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. Lucilla clearly adored her betrothed, anyone could see that.
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