keeping your mind occupied with the routine of managing the household—
[He forces a prim playful smile]
and managing me, I might add!—you have wonderfully improved and I think it most ill-advised in the hottest part of August, while you’re really still a convalescent—
Nina
[Thinking]
Talking! . . . his voice like a fatiguing dying tune droned on a beggar’s organ . . . his words arising from the tomb of a soul in puffs of ashes . . .
[Torturedly]
Ashes! . . . oh, Gordon, my dear one! . . . oh, lips on my lips, oh, strong arms around me, oh, spirit so brave and generous and gay! . . . ashes dissolving into mud! . . . mud and ashes! . . . that’s all! . . . gone! . . . gone forever from me! . . .
Professor Leeds
[Thinking angrily]
Her eyes . . . I know that look . . . tender, loving . . . not for me . . . damn Gordon! . . . I’m glad he’s dead! . . .
[A touch of asperity in his voice]
And at a couple of hours’ notice to leave everything in the air, as it were—
[Then judicially]
No, Nina, frankly, I can’t see it. You know I’d gladly consent to anything in the world to benefit you, but—surely, you can’t have reflected!
