Sometimes I would rise up with the sole intention of finding out whether this frightful thing was or was not a ghastly dream.

Then my memory would go back over the long years, and every little instance of unselfishness and devotion would rise before my mind.

As I looked at the prostrate and attenuated form that lay silent on the couch of eucalyptus leaves, I felt that life was merely the acutest agony, and that I must immediately seek oblivion in some form or the other, or lose my reason.

It seemed, I say, impossible that Yamba could cease to be.

It seemed the cruellest and most preposterous thing that she could be taken from me.
Frantically I put my arms around her and actually tried to lift her on to her feet, begging of her to show how robust she was as in the days of yore.