" "'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold. "You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. " "But you are young!" It was a protest, almost vehement. 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. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. CHAPTER XXXII. “Yes,” she answered, looking away.
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