Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. ” 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. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy.
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