“Don’t lie to me, Sarah, not now, not on top of everything else you’ve done! At least have the decency to admit that you enjoyed facilitating my ruin.”
“That’s not true, cousin! I have been ill-used, too. My hopes are also dashed, my heart is also broken!”
“How dare you equate your pain with mine!” I wanted to kill her. I imagined wrapping my veil around her throat, twisting and twisting, tighter and tighter, choking the breath from her body. “You know nothing of love!”
“I only meant—”
“Get out,” I said. “I can’t bear the sight of you.”
Sarah hesitated, attempted to speak again.
“Get out!” I screamed. She flinched but stood firm. I pounded the dressing-table with my fist, jangling the trinkets like broken glass, smashing my watch crystal and stopping time. It was twenty minutes to nine.
“Get out!”
Finally, Sarah scuttled away, closing the door behind her.

The hours that followed eluded me. I dropped to my knees, clutched at things—lace, gloves, flowers—and wept. I lay on the floor like melting snow. Mary tried to lift me, urged me to change out of my wedding clothes and get into bed, but I pushed her roughly away. She stumbled back. She moved to tidy the room, to unpack the trousseau, to close the trunks, and I screamed, “Touch nothing!”
The housekeeper appeared and murmured something about the cousins, about Raymond informing the bishop and the guests. She said she would have the wedding breakfast cleared from the table, and I screamed again, “Touch nothing!”
The physician arrived and tried to administer a tonic. I knocked his hand aside, and the spoon clattered against the wall. Arms tried to lift me once more, stronger this time, and I writhed from their grasp. Leave me be!
Why would no one listen to me? Why would no one obey?

I dreamed of spiders. They danced over me, extruding loose, irregular tangles of silk. At first the threads seemed beautiful, iridescent and soft. They formed ephemeral orbs and funnels and sheets. But then they began to stick. When I tried to peel them away, they grew thick and coarse and adhered more closely. The more I struggled, the more tightly they bound. Soon my limbs were paralyzed, my breathing scraped like a saw, and my chest refused to rise; it fell only lower and lower and lower.
I jerked awake, gasping for air and clutching at my throat, brushing wildly at my arms and face. All was quiet except the ticking of the clock. I sat up slowly, and then struggled to my feet under the heaviness of the bridal clothes, the weight of the crushing blow. In the dim light, the clock on the wall showed twenty minutes to nine; a full twelve hours had passed. I limped over to it, still wearing only one shoe, reached up, and stopped the pendulum.
Silence at last.