” Ann Veronica meditated over that phrase. “Experte credo. 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. The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Well, it's scarcely credible. The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. This is the one movement that brings women of different classes together for a common purpose. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway.
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