” 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. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. McClintock would be on hand to tell her how and where to obtain this freedom. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. He has given orders that no one is to disturb him. The unequal battle went on. Her normally shiny hair was 143 stringy and flat. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me.
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