She lay still for a long time, and her mind resumed at a more tolerable pace. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. They can’t help seeing things in the way they do. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again.
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