'And how d'you find that this'--he tapped the palm of his glove--'helps you?'
'It covers up the thing from being too real--if one takes enough--you know. Only--only--one loses everything else. I've been no more than a bogie-girl for two years. What would you give to be real again? This lying's such a nuisance.'
'One must protect oneself--and there's one's mother to think of,' he answered.
'True. I hope allowances are made for us somewhere. Our burden--can you hear?--our burden is heavy enough.'
She rose, towering into the roof of the carriage. Conroy's ungentle grip pulled her back.
'Now you are foolish. Sit down,' said he.
'But the cruelty of it! Can't you see it? Don't you feel it? Let's take one now--before I--'
'Sit down!' cried Conroy, and the sweat stood again on his forehead. He had fought through a few nights, and had been defeated on more, and he knew the rebellion that flares beyond control to exhaustion.
She smoothed her hair and dropped back, but for a while her head and throat moved with the sickening motion of a captured wry-neck.
'Once,' she said, spreading out her hands, 'I ripped my counterpane from end to end. That takes strength. I had it then. I've little now. "All dorn," as my little niece says. And you, lad?'