Of course she had read this work many times before, but there were certain parts to which she passionately returned: so cool, so elegant, so beautiful, so terrible. As she read tears began to stream down her face.

She dreamt she saw the Polish Rider passing slowly by and he was weeping and she called out to him, but he turned his head away. She dreamt that she was drowning in the pool of tears.

Only sometimes at night when I think that you live now and are somewhere, I shed tears.

But now her tears dried because so many terrible emotions and speculations demanded her attention.