“Where am I?” he muttered. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. She was curious to know why he had boarded a dingy train instead of hailing a cab or his own private chauffeur like the others in expensive suits were doing. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. Courtlaw rose to his feet. " "I wonder where the deuce I'll be able to get some writing paper? I'm crazy to get to work again. He understood. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps.
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