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He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. It feels like it. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. “Why not?” He asked. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. He had seen the announcement of your marriage in the papers, and he imagined that I simply wanted to remain unknown because of your husband’s puritanism.
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