At the lodge, a negro child was still crying. A very tall, lean, pale negro was sitting on the edge of the lodge’s verandah-stoop, plaiting a withy-basket. Sard hailed him.
“Has a Spanish lady come to this house to-day?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is she at the house now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is her name, do you know?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is her name?”
“What is her name?”
“Yes,” Sard said, “what is her name?”