She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. ” 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. Now she was to be married to him and it horrified her. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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