They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. ” 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. What is done cannot be undone. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. “In two days,” she reflected, “Mrs. ” The conversation hung for a moment. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. Fear nothing. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. .
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