Mara buried her head in her hands.

I gazed on the face of one who knew existence but not love--knew nor life, nor joy, nor good; with my eyes I saw the face of a live death! She knew life only to know that it was dead, and that, in her, death lived.

It was not merely that life had ceased in her, but that she was consciously a dead thing.
She had killed her life, and was dead--and knew it.

She must DEATH IT for ever and ever! She had tried her hardest to unmake herself, and could not! she was a dead life! she could not cease! she must BE! In her face I saw and read beyond its misery--saw in its dismay that the dismay behind it was more than it could manifest.

It sent out a livid gloom; the light that was in her was darkness, and after its kind it shone.