Besides , she liked him , and the gossip had made her think a good deal about him of late . Indeed , in a moment of candour she had owned to herself the very last Sunday in church that she would n't mind if the story were true . `` I 'll -- I 'll think of it , '' she said . This was practically an acceptance , and Young Thomas so understood it . Without loss of time he crossed the kitchen , sat down beside Adelia , and put his arms about her plump waist . `` Here 's a kiss Charlie sent me to give you , '' he said , giving it . The Letters Just before the letter was brought to me that evening I was watching the red November sunset from the library window . It was a stormy , unrestful sunset , gleaming angrily through the dark fir boughs that were now and again tossed suddenly and distressfully in a fitful gust of wind . Below , in the garden , it was quite dark , and I could only see dimly the dead leaves that were whirling and dancing uncannily over the roseless paths . The poor dead leaves -- yet not quite dead ! There was still enough unquiet life left in them to make them restless and forlorn . They hearkened yet to every call of the wind , who cared for them no longer but only played freakishly with them and broke their rest . I felt sorry for the leaves as I watched them in that dull , weird twilight , and angry -- in a petulant fashion that almost made me laugh -- with the wind that would not leave them in peace . Why should they -- and I -- be vexed with these transient breaths of desire for a life that had passed us by ? I was in the grip of a bitter loneliness that evening -- so bitter and so insistent that I felt I could not face the future at all , even with such poor fragments of courage as I had gathered about me after Father 's death , hoping that they would , at least , suffice for my endurance , if not for my content . But now they fell away from me at sight of the emptiness of life . The emptiness ! Ah , it was from that I shrank . I could have faced pain and anxiety and heartbreak undauntedly , but I could not face that terrible , yawning , barren emptiness . I put my hands over my eyes to shut it out , but it pressed in upon my consciousness insistently , and would not be ignored longer .
The moment when a woman realizes XXXXX she has nothing to live for -- neither love nor purpose nor duty -- holds for her the bitterness of death .
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