Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. She felt the softest touch caress her cheek, and a wave of tenderness engulfed Melusine. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. ” 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. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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