Again and again she formulated, in her fancy, scenes of the immediate future, as for example at her mother's dying bed, and she imagined conversations and repeated the actual words used by herself and others, interminably.

And then she returned to the previous day, and hundreds of times she went into the inner room and said to Mr.Cannon: "I'm very sorry, Mr.Cannon, but I've just had a telegram--" etc.

Why had she not said it ?...

Thus worked the shuttles of her mind, with ruthless, insane insistence, until she knew not whether she was awake or asleep, and the very tissues of her physical brain seemed raw.
She thought feebly: "If I got up and lighted the candle and walked about, I should end this." But she could not rise.

She was netted down to the bed.