Part 44 (2/2)

”You are thirty-two, Ca.s.sandra. The big things of life are not all over at thirty-two.”

Ca.s.sandra sighed sharply.

”So you say--so you say... You are thinking of the future, of long years ahead, but I have to face life to-day; to walk along a flat, dull road, and leave the suns.h.i.+ne behind.” She flung out her arms towards the country below. ”Look at it, Grizel! My lot lies there. And I've been on the heights!”

”You are thirty-two, Ca.s.sandra,” Grizel said. ”The heights are not all over at thirty-two.”

But again Ca.s.sandra refused the comfort.

”Oh, of all the things that might have happened to me, this was the last that I expected--to have come through so much,--to have loved, and been loved, to have fought and won, and to be left with--_Nothing_! No change, no difference. That seems just the hardest ending of all! If there had been a big upheaval, and outside things had changed to match, even if it had been for the worse, it would be easier than to go back,-- a woman whose whole nature has been revolutionised,--and fit oneself into the same narrow groove, knowing that the page is turned for ever, and that there is no more hope.”

”You are thirty-two, Ca.s.sandra,” Grizel said a third time. ”No pages are turned for ever at thirty-two.”

”But, oh, Grizel, Grizel, when you read of these things happening to people in books, there is always _Something_ tangible to take hold of...

It may be tragedy, or it may be joy, but at least there is _Something_ to mark the difference, and I have nothing, but a memory which I must try to kill... There's no poetry in it, Grizel, there's no romance. It isn't even--fair!”

”No,” sighed Grizel softly. ”It's just--Life!”

The End.

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