"Yes--yes, indeed," he said gently.
She laughed, contented with his answer, and laid her lips against the
painted face of the doll.
"When we grow up, years from now--then we'll understand, won't we, Phil?
. . . I am tired with playing. . . . And Phil--let me whisper something.
Is that person gone?"
He turned and signed to the nurse, who quietly withdrew.
"Is she gone?" repeated Alixe.
"Yes."
"Then listen, Phil. Do you know what she and the other one are about all
day? _I_ know; I pretend not to, but I know. They are watching me every
moment--always watching me, because they want to make you believe that I
am forgetting you. But I am not. That is why I made them send for you so
I could tell you myself that I could never, never forget you. . . . I
think of you always while I am playing--always--always I am thinking of
you. You will believe it, won't you?"
"Yes," he said.
Contented, she turned to her doll again, undressing it deftly, tenderly.
"At moments," she said, "I have an odd idea that it is real.
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