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Ah, it was a dull agony to her to re a dead self All that was dead

after Winifred She knew the corpse of her young, loving self,

she knew its grave And the young living self she mourned for

had scarcely existed, it was the creature of her

iing and

unchanged No one would ever love her now--she would love

no one The body of love was killed in her after Winifred, there

was soo

on, but she would have no lovers, no lover would want her any

more She herself would want no lover The vividest little flaerm that

contained the bud of her real self, her real love, was killed,

she would go on growing as a plant, she would do her best to

produce herfloas dead

before it was born, all her groas the conveying of a corpse

of hope

The miserable weeks went on, in the poky house crammed with

children What was her life--a sordid, forwen a person without worth or

ie of Cossethay, within the

sordid scope of Ilkeston Ursula Brangwen, at seventeen,