‘But so also it is downstairs. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. He seemed like a very intelligent doctor and not at all like a snooty archbishop. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. Then her eyes flashed. Several men and women were piled there like wood, dead, horribly gored. The telegram reminded Ann Veronica that she had no place for interviews except her bed-sitting-room, and she sought her landlady and negotiated hastily for the use of the ground floor parlor, which very fortunately was vacant.
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