Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy

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Hardy's Lost Pages Following Eustacia's Final soliloquy at that moment the wind's harshness grew and the rain, which had already begun to bleed through the wrappings of the broken soul, came down with greater fierceness. The heath seemed to sway in perfect synchronization with the movements of the weather. Absolute darkness enclosed Eustacia in its inescapable grasp.

Three objects were now in perfect chaotic unison: the storm, the heath, and the woman. The tears fell from her face and, at the same instant, so did the rain. As the hunched over figure heaved her body with heavy sobs, the wind howled, angrier than ever, but then the moment of unison was destroyed; Eustacia managed to pull herself out of the dark, cold heap she was in against the rain-stained earth.

Staying where she was could only allow her to fully realize the doomed life she was bound to live, so she started again, but this time without a destination.

Unbreakable darkness surrounded her, making the task of walking the rocky, root covered ground all the more difficult, but then something changed underneath Eustacia's feet. No longer was the cold, oozing mud of the heath there, but the ground was hard and smooth -only something that could be man made. Eustacia found herself looking straight down into the ferocious face of the Shadwater Weir, whose currents mirrored the attitude of the storm. With little thought she perched herself higher above the obscure cauldron. Maybe there was no escaping this desolate land except through the form of death. Inching closer to the edge of the wall, which now had became the median between life and death, she started to think of the life that she dreamed of so many times, but never received. Could any of her dreams still be reached? Even in her darkest hour, a last hope of optimism slipped through all of the horrible thoughts racing through her head. Turning her back on death, she started to make her way down from the slippery median, but Eustacia could not avoid the overwhelming feeling that the thread of her life had come to an end. Just then the wind unleashed all of its might causing the woman to slip backwards, back into the dark cauldron towards the side of death.

"Return of the Native" by Thomas Hardy.