She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. ” 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. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. ‘C’est ridicule.
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