She changed her mind that day, as her mother Marina had predicted. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. “It’s okay. It is very bad. ” 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. She had never felt so cold, she felt even colder than she had in the water. ‘Of course. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do.
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