But since then--every day, every hour had been grinding, scorching her away--fashioning in flame and fever this new Marcella who sat here, looking impatiently into another life, which should know nothing of the bonds of the old.
Ah, yes!--her _thought_ could distinguish between the act and the man, between the man and his class; but in her _feeling_ all was confounded.
This awful growth of sympathy in her--strange irony!--had made all sympathy for Aldous Raeburn impossible to her.

Marry him ?--no! no!--never! But she would make it quite easy to him to give her up.
Pride should come in--he should feel no pain in doing it.

She had in her pocket the letter she had received from him that afternoon.

She had hardly been able to read it.

Ear and heart were alike dull to it.
From time to time she probably slept in her chair.