Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. “I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style. I can't invent; the thing won't come. ” She interrupted as Ann Veronica was about to speak again, with a bright contagious hopefulness. I was forced to lay on a bed of nails for three days.
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