“This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. ” She covered her face with her hands. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. You think you love this other man! No doubt you do love him. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. But it’s as you say. “You love some one else?” he repeated. “My God!” and ceased to move. “I suppose Paris is very, very distracting.
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