Then she sat alone and in darkness and
wept away the accumulated annoyances of the week.
When it came to my turn, I spoke the truth by chance when I said that,
however much I wanted to cry, I only permitted myself the luxury about
once in two years. I think my complexion is a conclusive proof that my
words were sincere.
There are deserts which never know the refreshment of dew or rain. My
life has been such a desert.
I, who like to receive confidences, have a morbid fear of giving them.
Perhaps it is because I was so much alone, so self-centred, in my
childhood.
The more I reflect upon life, the more clearly I see that I have not
laid out my talents to the best advantage. I have no sweet memories of
infidelity; I have lived irreproachably--and now I am very tired.
I sit here and write for myself alone. I know that no one else will ever
read my words; and yet I am not quite sincere, even with myself.
Life has passed me by; my hands are empty; now it is too late.
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