” Brendon went very pale. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. 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. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. But leave me here in my home, child, I will disintegrate if I am exposed. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling.
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