’ ‘You can arrest me,’ answered Kimble belligerently, ‘but you can’t make me say nothing about 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. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Fairbanks, AK, 99712.
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