It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. ‘I am sorry to hear of your misfortunes. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Proper enough now, when he could not help himself, but the habit would be formed; and when he was strong again it would become the normal role, hers to give and his to receive. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. Marry me.
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