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. “Here goes for the new life!” “Here goes for the new life,” he echoed and stood up. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands.
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