She bowed her head as if he were scolding her.
“I wish you could laugh at me just for one minute —just for one minute. I feel as if it would set something free.”
“But” — and she looked up at him with eyes frightened and struggling — ”I do laugh at you — I DO.”
“Never! There’s always a kind of intensity. When you laugh I could always cry; it seems as if it shows up your suffering. Oh, you make me knit the brows of my very soul and cogitate.”
Slowly she shook her head despairingly.
