She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. ‘Certainly no one will find it. The elusive Jane tapped her on the shoulder after class. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy.
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