Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. "'You've a long journey before you. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. 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. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. ” “No. "I dare not, Rowland," she answered. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. There was just a minute’s hesitation before they gave her a room. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. He made his speech a little elaborately.
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