As I walked away with the woman's angry words ringing after me from the
doorstep, I was divided between amusement and despair; I cannot express it
by any other phrase. And that cynical mingling of feelings was the nearest
approach to contentment that I had known for days.
The feeling died away; reaction came. It was the worst hour of my life.
The thought of suicide--the respite I had always held in reserve against a
day too evil to be borne--pressed upon my mind.
I wandered to a ferry and crossed the East River to some unfamiliar suburb
where saloons were thicker than I had ever before seen them; and all the
way over I looked at the turbid water and knew in my heart that I should
never have the courage to throw my beautiful body into that foul tide.
From the ferry I presently reached a vast, forbidding cemetery, and as I
went among the crowded graves there came floating out from a little chapel
the sound of prayers intoned for the dead. I almost envied them; almost
wished that I, too, might be laid to rest in the little churchyard at
home.
Then I lay down flat upon the turf in a lonely place, and tried to think
of myself as dead.
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