“I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. But also this must not go on. ” 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. . If my conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely.
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