So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. ” 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. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. It would not be possible otherwise to live in daily contact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her. John Sheppard.
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