LEFT ALONE Mary Warren, alone in the little cabin, found herself in a new world whose existence she had never dreamed--that subjective and subconscious land which bridges the forgotten genesis of things to the usual and busy world of the senses, in which we pass our daily lives.

Indeed, never before had she known what human life really is, how far out of perspective, how selfish, how distorted.

Now, alone in the darkness, back in the chaos and the beginning, she saw for the first time how small a thing is life and how ill it is for the most part lived.

A fly buzzed loudly on the window pane--a bold, bronzed, lustrous fly, no doubt, she said to herself, pompous and full of himself--buzzed again and again, until the drone of his wings blurred, grew confused, ceased.
She wondered if he had found a web.
The darkness oppressed her like a velvet pall.

She strained her eyes, trying in spite of all to pierce it, beat at it, picked at it, to get it from around her head; and only paused at length, her face beaded, because she knew that way madness lay.
Time was a thing now quite out of her comprehension.