Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. In the present case it did not matter, as there was no one else within earshot. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. You’ll never even see me again, for that 268 matter.
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