The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. ” 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 release was so great that she felt tears spring from her eyes. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it.
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