She ought to have thought of herself, of what would make it possible for her to go on living without him.

If she could have seen him again, he might have given her some precept, some master word, by which she could have guided her life.

She would have welcomed something imprisoning and safe.
It was cruel of him, she thought, to toss her out like this, rudderless and alone.

She wondered what he would have given her as a commandment, and remembered suddenly the apocryphal last words which Vincent was fond of attributing to George Washington, "Never trust a nigger with a gun." She found herself smiling over them.

Vincent was more likely to have quoted the apparition's advice to Macbeth: "Be bloody, bold, and resolute." That would have been his motto for himself, but not for her.
What was the principle by which he infallibly guided her?
How could he have left her so spiritually unprovided for?
She felt imposed upon, deserted.