That barrier confessed its frailness in every drooping line.

Again it was the involuntary submission of her whole poise--she had actually leaned a little further toward him when he started, even as her hand went up.

But the helpless misery in her eyes was still a defense, passive but sufficient.
Then she spoke and his tension relaxed a little, the note of helpless suffering in her voice making him wince and fall back a step.
"Bernal, Bernal, Bernal! It hurts me so, hurts me so! It's the Gratcher--isn't it hurting you, too?
Oh, it must be!" He retreated a little, again grasping the back of the chair with one hand, but there was no restraint in his voice.
"Laugh, Nance, laugh! You know what laughing does to them!" "Not to this one, Bernal--oh, not to this one!" "But it's only a Gratcher, Nance! I've been asleep all these years.

Now I'm awake.

I'm in the world again--here, do you understand, before you.
And it's a glad, good world.