"Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. “I should kill you. 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. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day. Before there is any change, any real change, I shall be dead—dead—dead and finished—two hundred years!. . It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions.
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