They cease to exist; they are as though they had never been.
Whoever recollects an outside world may play with passion, or may idle with sentiment, but does not love.
She did not hear what the villagers said to her.

She did not see the streets of the towns as she passed them.

She kept herself clean always, and broke fast now and then by sheer instinct of habit, nothing more.

She had no perception what she did, except of walking--walking--walking always, and seeing the white road go by like pale ribbons unrolled.
She got a dreamy, intense, sleepless light in her blue eyes that frightened some of those she passed.

They thought she had been fever-stricken, and was not in her senses.
So she went across the dreary lowlands, wearing out her little sabots, but not wearing out her patience and her courage.
She was very dusty and jaded.