Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. ” 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. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. She refused to eat. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination.
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