He seemed to be about to move toward her. What's this?" he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet—it was Jonathan's memorandum. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence.
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