What shall I tell you of this loneliness? It forces its way into me
when the sun goes down and the darkness strays impetuously into my silent room
through the frosted windows. A half-cry rises in my breast, and I want to
scream, but that would be unseemly and unmanly. After all, I chose this. It was
my own choice. And the cross of making the right choice I bear with me every
night into my bed, and sometimes my pillow is damp when I wake up
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