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 She paused a moment, and then said tentatively: &quot;To-morrow you will be able to go back to your work.&quot;

&quot;Oh—my work,&quot; he exclaimed, as if to brush aside an ill-timed pleasantry.

&quot;Are you too tired?&quot;

&quot;No.&quot; He rose and began to wander up and down the room. &quot;I'm not tired.—Give me some tea, will you?&quot; He paused before her while she poured the cup, and then, without taking it, turned away to light a cigarette.

&quot;Surely there is still time?&quot; she suggested, with her eyes on him.

&quot;Time? To finish my plans? Oh, yes—there's time. But they're not worth it.&quot;

&quot;Not worth it?&quot; She started up, and then dropped back into her seat, ashamed of having betrayed her anxiety. &quot;They are worth as much as they were last week,&quot; she said with an attempt at cheerfulness.