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Poor Professor! he was horribly lonely tried to hide it  always telling you how beneficial the training at the hospital would be for her  poor old chap!

[His voice grows husky and uncertain—he controls it—straightens himself]

What time is it?

[He takes out his watch mechanically and looks at it]

Ten after nine. Nina ought to be here.

[Then with sudden bitterness]

Will she feel any real grief over his death, I wonder? I doubt it! but why am I so resentful? the two times I’ve visited the hospital she’s been pleasant enough pleasantly evasive! perhaps she thought her father had sent me to spy on her poor Professor! at least she answered his letters he used to show them to me  pathetically overjoyed  newsy, loveless scripts, telling nothing whatever about herself  well, she won’t have to compose them any more  she never answered mine  she might at least have acknowledged them. Mother thinks she’s behaved quite inexcusably

[Then jealously]

I suppose every single damned inmate has fallen in love with her! her eyes seemed cynical sick with men  as though I’d looked into the eyes of a prostitute  not that I ever have  except that once  the dollar house  hers were like patent leather buttons in a saucer of blue milk!

[Getting up with a movement of impatience]

The devil! what beastly incidents our memories insist on cherishing! the ugly and disgusting the beautiful things we have to keep diaries to remember!