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| Kate Chopin The Awakening (1899) |
if his wife were not growing a little
unbalanced mentally.
He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is,
he could not see that she was becoming herself
and daily casting aside that fictitious self
which we assume like a garment with
which to appear before the world.
There were days when Edna Pontellier was unhappy,
she did not know why–when it did not seem
worth while to be glad or sorry, to be
alive or dead; when life appeared
to her like a grotesque pandemonium
and humanity like worms struggling blindly
toward inevitable annihilation. She could not work
on such days, nor weave fancies to stir
her pulses and warm her blood.
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Footnote
The next Kate Chopin page is here.
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