But always before,
when she has irritated me until I've nearly forgotten my promise to her
father (my step-father) always to be gentle with her in thought and
deed, I have felt such pangs of remorse that I've tried to atone, even
when there wasn't really anything to atone for, except in my mind. I was
afraid that, if I refused to let her come in, she would go to bed angry
with me. And when Lisa is angry she generally has a heart attack and is
ill next day. "Di, are you there?" she called again.
Without answering, I went to the door and unlocked it. She came in with
a rush. "I feel perfectly wild, as if I must do something desperate,"
she said.
So did I, but I didn't mean to let her know that.
"I'm going out," she went on. "If I don't, I shall have a fit."
"Out!" I repeated. "You can't. It's midnight."
"Can't? There's no such word for me as 'can't,' when I want to do
anything, and you ought to know that," said she. "It's only being ill
that ever stops me, and I'm not ill to-night. I feel as if electricity
were flowing all through me, making my nerves jump, and I believe you
feel exactly the same way. Your eyes are as big as half-crowns, and as
black as ink.
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