” 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. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. “Of course I will,” he answered. ” She said with a smile. ‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome.
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