I want to know—just as much as I can. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. 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. We find out no man will treat a woman fairly as man to man—no man.
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