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" "Till midnight," replied Jack. 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. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. But ——” A look checked him. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. Lucy had caught it when it was a millimeter away from hitting her teeth. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Jack was not half your age when he died.
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