"It only clung to her and patted her black sleeve and kissed it, as if it wanted to comfort her.

I kept expecting it to cry, but it didn't.

It made me cry because it seemed so sure that it could comfort her if she would only remember that it was alive and loved her.
I wish, I wish death did not make people feel as if it filled all the world--as if, when it happens, there is no life left anywhere.

The child who was alive by her side did not seem a living thing to her.

It didn't matter." I had never said as much to any one before, but his watching eyes made me forget my shy worldlessness.
"What do you feel about it--death ?" he asked.
The low gentleness of his voice seemed something I had known always.
"I never saw it," I answered.