“She was the High Priestess who turned me in Greece, before Rome. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. '" "What is that?" she asked. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. ” She propped herself up on the massive oaken post of the bed, feeling the paralysis tingle her legs as it left them ever so slowly. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. Now I’d like the rest of your story. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life. 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. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato.
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