It's So Easy To Make A Person

There Are Always Two Deaths, The Real One And The One People Know About.

Not That She Objected To Solitude. Quite The Contrary. She Had Books, Thank Heaven, Quantities Of Books. All Sorts Of Books.

Everything Tender And Melancholy - As Life Is Sometimes, Just For One Moment.

...i Know All About Myself Now, I Know. You've Told Me So Often. You Haven't Left Me One Rag Of Illusion To Clothe Myself In.

Next Week, Or Next Month, Or Next Year I Will Kill Myself. But I Might As Well Last Out My Month's Rent, Which Has Been Paid Up.