She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. Let—it—fall. “I do,” Anna answered. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. She hit the villain with it. But he may remain with you if he pleases: I sha'n't hinder him. I want to know who sent you those. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. 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.
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