She despised the one, and hated the other; of the two, she would rather have let the hated one live.

But to die herself seemed absurd to her, because she really feared death with all her heart, and clung to life with all her strong, vital nature.

If the lives of all Naples could have saved her own, death should have had them all, rather than take hers.

To live was a passion of itself--even to live lonely, with a despicable and hated companion in the consciousness of the enormous and irrevocable crime by which that living was to be secured to her.
There was a common, straight-backed chair in the room, between the chest of drawers and the wall.

Through that interminable half-hour she sat upright upon it, her hands folded upon her knees, quite cold and motionless, her eyes closed, and her lips parted in an expression of bodily pain.