She covered herself with her arms. “It has all been a mistake, hasn’t it?” “No more talking,” the doctor interposed. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again. . I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. There was a girlfriend who was mentally ill.
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