“I’d like to know the good of all this talking, day and night.” She was annoyed, and even her laugh showed it.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “You must tell me what happened to you after Adam Larsen’s death,” he said. “I can’t get rid of the impression of your words: the things that happened then.... Of course, I can imagine in a general way. I have insight enough into life now to make a guess....”
She interrupted him with a note of contempt in her voice. “No, you can’t guess nothing and you can’t imagine nothing. I’d bet my last rag on that.”
“That’s all the more reason why I’d like you to tell me about it,” he urged her. “You have never done so.”
There was an hostility in her silence, and it suddenly became clear to him that some stubborn instinct in her refused to initiate him wholly into her world. All that he had done for her had not sufficed to conquer the distrust of him and his kind that was bred into her very bone. The realization of this fact made him feel sad and helpless.
“I went to bed at seven to-day,” she said, blinking her eyes. “I wasn’t feeling a bit well. I believe I’m going to be sick.”
Christian looked at her, and he could not keep the disquietude and urgency out of his eyes.
Karen closed her lids. “Nothing but torment, torment, torment,” she moaned.
Christian was frightened. “No, no. Forgive me. I’ll go.”
“You might as well stay.” She laid her cheek on her folded hands, and drew up her limbs under the covers. A common but not disagreeable odour came from her hair and skin.