That for you!" And she snapped her fingers in his face. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. She went into shock. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. Nor, he would wager, had the heroic Monsieur Valade, who had rescued her from that life and brought her to England, taught her in that short time all that Gerald was certain she knew of men. But he only went home again to Paddington. 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. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared.
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