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“When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. The light disappeared. You may go back, Marthe. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. She tried to keep her side up by declaring that he had put her into an impossible position, and he replied by shouting, “Nonsense! Nonsense! Any father in my place would have done what I did. ” 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. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. .
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