In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. Winifred screamed. “I have not the least idea who he is. But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him. Unable to withstand this appeal, Thames gave the required promise, adding, —"Oh! Winny, I wish Mr. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. She flailed against the doctor’s grip but after what seemed an eternity of kicking and flailing, amazingly, he had not seemed weakened in the slightest by her resistance.
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