Chapter 35
Thus ran the 'last document,' commencing abruptly and without prefix:
"I have made up my mind to die. Not out of passion or petulance,—but from deliberate choice, and, as I think, necessity. My brain is tired of problems,—my body is tired of life; it is best to make an end. The idea of death,— which means annihilation,—is very sweet to me. I am glad to feel that by my own will and act I can silence this uneasy throbbing of my heart, this turmoil and heat of my blood,— this tortured aching of my nerves. Young as I am, I have no delight now in existence,—I see nothing but my love's luminous eyes, his god-like features, his enthralling smile,— and these are lost to me. For a brief while he has been my world, life and time,—he has gone,—and without him there is no universe. How co
