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Wollstonecraft, Mary, 1759-1797

"Mary A Fiction"

Wherefore am I made thus? Vain are my
efforts--I cannot live without loving--and love leads to madness.--Yet
I will not weep; and her eyes were now fixed by despair, dry and
motionless; and then quickly whirled about with a look of distraction.
She looked for hope; but found none--all was troubled waters.--No where
could she find rest. I have already paced to and fro in the earth; it is
not my abiding place--may I not too go home! Ah! no. Is this complying
with my Henry's request, could a spirit thus disengaged expect to
associate with his? Tears of tenderness strayed down her relaxed
countenance, and her softened heart heaved more regularly. She felt the
rain, and turned to her solitary home.
Fatigued by the tumultuous emotions she had endured, when she entered
the house she ran to her own room, sunk on the bed; and exhausted
nature soon closed her eyes; but active fancy was still awake, and a
thousand fearful dreams interrupted her slumbers.
Feverish and languid, she opened her eyes, and saw the unwelcome sun
dart his rays through a window, the curtains of which she had forgotten
to draw.


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