Flint's
complaints. Afar off the city lights shone faintly through the fog,
like pale lamps seen in dreams; the damp air cooled her feverish
cheeks; the road was dark and still, and she longed to lie down and
rest among the sodden leaves.
When she reached the bridge she saw the draw was up, and a spectral
ship was slowly passing through. With no desire to mingle in the
crowd that waited on either side, she paused, and, leaning on the
railing, let her thoughts wander where they would. As she stood
there the heavy air seemed to clog her breath and wrap her in its
chilly arms. She felt as if the springs of life were running down,
and presently would stop; for, even when the old question, "What
shall I do?" came haunting her, she no longer cared even to try to
answer it, and had no feeling but one of utter weariness. She tried
to shake off the strange mood that was stealing over her, but spent
body and spent brain were not strong enough to obey her will, and,
in spite of her efforts to control it, the impulse that had seized
her grew more intense each moment.
"Why should I work and suffer any longer for myself alone?" she
thought; "why wear out my life struggling for the bread I have no
heart to eat? I am not wise enough to find my place, nor patient
enough to wait until it comes to me.
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