She caught at the idea. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. Pshaw!" added he, making an effort to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way. ” 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. There’s a hansom coming round the corner.
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