Her grief was quiet. She made no show of it; yet suffered more than it could be shown by clamorous sobs or frantic words. The sorrow had subsided; the pain lived on; Life didnt exhaust itself in the usual manner. Everything seemed to be quiet and still around her. She had no defiant air, no affectation, nor too extravagant a display of sadness. She saw the thing in her hand; justified her stance to nobody; her reasoning always rose and streamed through the heart. It is said that a woman rises or falls with the arm on which she leans. The arm on which she had leaned upon, failed to keep its elevation; faithful and firm throughout life. Her thoughts turned backward; head running upon her, in her madness, as much almost as on another person, who was the more immediate cause of her frenzy. Nothing could divert her from him, for the thought of him never left her alone. The thing in her hand shone brightly. She saw her act, as she saw all other things of the past; a touching association of thoughts and feelings. The deed was past recall now, and the time of its commission had been utterly beyond her control. She had no regrets. All she could see now, was her dear old friend, with his outstretched hand, and his grave, sweet smile of welcome. That was substantially, her life. Her actions, thoughts, and sufferings were all concentered on this one important end.
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