| OCR Text |
Show 53 memories of those still alive, but backwards four, six, nearly eight hundred years, and she feels the absolute insignificance of her own remarkable presence on this bench. Someone else will occupy it tomorrow, still someone else the followinq day, and still others will continue to come for future hundreds of years, small ephemeral individuals supplanted by new equally ephemeral ones, who will take their impermanent seats on this bench just as she. She pays the bill; for some entirely extraneous reason, she realizes that half the time has elapsed until she has planned to go home. A small irked feeling rides up inside her, but she does not resist it, and it subsides of its own accord. She sees no reason to worry yet, though somewhere, somehow, she knows what is coming. |
