Only The Magic And The Dream Are

Quite Like Old Times,' The Room Says.

For The First Time She Had Dimly Realized That Only The Hopeless Are Starkly Sincere And That Only The Unhappy Can Either Give Or Take Sympathy--even Some Of The Bitter And Dangerous Voluptuousness Of Misery.

A Room? A Nice Room? A Beautiful Room? A Beautiful Room With Bath? Swing High, Swing Low, Swing To And Fro...this Happened And That Happened... And Then The Days Came And I Was Alone.

I Would Never Be Part Of Anything. I Would Never Really Belong Anywhere, And I Knew It, And All My Life Would Be The Same, Trying To Belong, And Failing. Always Something Would Go Wrong. I Am A Stranger And I Always Will Be, And After All I Didn’t Really Care.

There Are Always Two Deaths, The Real One And The One People Know About.