…she thought, waiting to cross, half the time she did things not simply, not for themselves, but to make people think this or that; perfect idiocy she knew for no one was ever for a second taken in. Oh if she could have had her life over again! she thought, stepping on the pavement, could have look ever differently!
did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely?
……it was she who suffered – but she had nobody to tell
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