She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. ” 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.
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