“By God!” said Ann Veronica for the first time in her life. “Do you mean in looks?” she asked. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome. “Thank you,” she said coolly. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in that moment he would have faced a dozen Samsons. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being.
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