I did n't care much by that time, yet finally he let me go, and I crept miserably on.

I became afraid of the police; I felt as I suppose criminals must feel; I slunk along in the dark shadows like a hunted thing.

The night grew misty and damp, but I found no shelter.

I had no will power left, no womanhood, no remorse; I had become a thing to play with, a body without a soul.

I had ceased to care, to think, to even remember; I only wanted to drop the struggle, and have it over with.
Perhaps I should have taken my own life, had I only known how to accomplish it--it seemed infinitely worse to live than to die.