"I don't see any use in facing it. You might as well ask a plant to face it when it's pulled up by the roots and thrown out into the sun. There's nothing left to face."
"But you're not pulled up by the roots, Rosie. Your roots are still in the soil. You've people who need you—"
Rosie made a little gesture, with palms outward. "I've given them all I had. I'm—I'm—empty."
"Yes, you feel so now. That's natural. We do feel empty of anything more to give when there's been a great drain on us. But somehow it's the people who've given most who always have the power to go on giving—after a little while. With time—"
The girl interrupted, not impatiently, but with vacant indifference. "What's the good of time—when it's going to be always the same?"
"The good of time is that it brings comfort—"
"I don't want comfort. I'd rather be as I am."
"That's perfectly natural—for now. But time passes whether we will or no; and whether we will or no, it softens—"
"Time can't pass if you won't let it."
"Why—why, what do you mean?"