"Quilt Arnold called this morning to say so. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. Anyhow, ten minutes after I get to work I'll be rumpling it. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. The unpleasant oily chill of fever overtook her body, and she watched in horror as Sebastian carried her to his bed on his shoulder like a sack of flour. She would not be driven in by this persistent, sneaking aggression. She stood looking down upon him with dilated eyes.
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