The disordered
red hair, the thin, freckled face, were expressive, and so too was the
movement of her body when she got up and walked, not knowing and not
caring where she was going. There was sensation of the river in her
thoughts; the river drew her, and she indistinctly remembered that she
would find relief there if she chose to accept that relief. The water was
blue beneath the sunrise, and it seemed to offer to end her life's
trouble. She could not go on living. She could not bear with her life any
longer, and yet she knew that she would not drown herself that morning.
There was not enough will in her to drown herself. She was merely half
dead with grief. He had turned her out, he had said that he never wanted
to see her again, but that was because he had been unlucky. She ought to
have gone to bed and not waited up for him; he didn't know what he was
doing; so long as he didn't care for another woman there was hope that he
might come back to her. The spare trees rustled their leaves in the bright
dawn air, and she sat down on a bench and watched the lamps going out, and
the river changing from blue to brown. Hours passed, and the same thoughts
came and went, until with sheer weariness of thinking she fell asleep.
She was awakened by the policeman, and she once more continued her walk.
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