But since that tragic night when my sorrow was transformed into joy at the lyke-wake in the old room, in truth the world is no longer what it was.
People and things appear to me shadowy and distant when I go out into the current of the crowds; when I am dressing in my room and decide that I look well in black; when I sit up late at my table in the sunshine of hope.

Now and again the memory of my aunt comes bodily back to me.

Sometimes I hear people pronounce the name of Marie.

My body starts when it hears them say "Marie," who know not what they say.
And there are moments when our separation throbs so warmly that I do not know whether she is here or absent.
* * * * * * During this walk that we have just had together the summer and the sweetness of living have weighed more than ever on my shoulders.

Her huge home, which is such a swarming hive at certain times, is now immensely empty in the labyrinth of its dark stairs and the landings, whence issue the narrow closed streets of its corridors, and where in the corners taps drip upon drain-stones.