At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. They walked side by side for a time. “You must tell me the truth, please. Mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration. She had warned him. He proposed, he wanted to possess her! He loved her. The sunshine was brilliant, the air mild. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. “I don’t mean simply intensity of sensation. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. ” 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.
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