But her heart was hurting her with its violence.

This is perhaps the saddest experience in the demise of love and the most difficult for the imagination to encompass: to come to know that someone who loved you once now regards you as boring and annoying and unimportant. Sheer hatred might even be preferred to this.

Mary held her heart, contracted into a point of agony.

His heart ached in such a familiar way, and the very familiarity of it pained him.