"I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. ” She was silent for a time, with her nose on the pillow, and that brought her to: “What’s the good of pretending? “I love him,” she said aloud to the dim forms of her room, and repeated it, and went on to imagine herself doing acts of tragically dog-like devotion to the biologist, who, for the purposes of the drama, remained entirely unconscious of and indifferent to her proceedings. All concerned in the dark transaction must have perished. Remember what the conjuror said. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. “For no other reason than you talk too much.
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