But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. It now occurred to him that she had always been fully dressed. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. ‘It is nothing.
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