She had long periods of silent and absorbed dreaming, conscious onlythat she dreamed, but not of the dream itself.

She always was aware, too, of a curious loneliness within her, and dimlyunderstood that it was the companion of a lifetime she wasmissing--her conscience. Where was it? Had it gone? Had it died?Were the little, inexplicable flashes of fear proof of itsdisintegration? 0r its immortal vitality?

Dead, dormant, departed, she really knew not which, she was dully aware ofits loss--dimly and kidishly troubled that she could remembernothing to be sorry for. And there was so much.