A line or two ran in her head from one of the old Victorian poets: You doubt If any one Could think or bid it?
How could it come about ?...
Who did it?
Not men! Not here! Oh! not beneath the sun....

The torch that smouldered till the cup o'er-ran The wrath of God which is the wrath of Man! She had even contemplated death, as she had told her husband--the taking of her own life, in a great despair with the world.

Seriously she had thought of it; it was an escape perfectly in accord with her morality.
The useless and agonising were put out of the world by common consent; the Euthanasia houses witnessed to it.

Then why not she ?...

For she could not bear it!...