’ Lucilla sat up. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. It seems to me exactly what is wanted. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient.
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