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Rh which we were born and brought up and grew old and which we cannot escape and which are worth nothing, nothing, nothing! And then, when we think that we have lived for our children and slaved and schemed and contrived for them, then it all comes to nothing, nothing, nothing; and not one of them is happy. . . .’ You see, Constance, I have talked to you now; but what’s the good of it? Why say all that I have said? You’ll go away presently and think, ‘What a fit of depression Bertha had!’ And that is all it was: a fit of depression. For, when I have had a couple of days’ rest, why, then life will go on as before: I shall have two charwomen in at once; the whole house has to be done, after the wedding and because of the spring-cleaning. Well, then, was it really worth while to speak out? Oh, no, talking leads to so little; and it’s best simply to do all the little duties that fall to one’s share.”

“I am very glad though, Bertha, that you have let yourself go. I did not know you thought like that; I myself have sometimes thought so, even though my life was not so busy as yours. But, in Brussels, I too sometimes thought, ‘Well, yes, I am living for Addie: but, if he were not here, he would not have his own troubles in the future; and I should not need to go on living!’”

“And perhaps there are hundreds who think like that, in our class.”

“Isn’t it the same in every class?”

“Perhaps life is hopeless for everybody. And yet, when I am rested, to-morrow or the day after,