I cannot work, I cannot teach. When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. With something near to horror they found themselves thus confronted. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less.
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