” 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. I may tell him, at any rate, that you will see him?” “I shall like to see him,” Anna answered. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. I will not trust you.
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