Love and Mr. Lewisham by H.G. Wells

Ethel Henderson sat at her machine before the window of Mr. Lagume's study, and stared blankly at the greys and blues of the November twilight. Her face was white, her eyelids were red from recent weeping, and her hands lay motionless in her lap. The door had just slammed behind Lagune.

"Heigh-ho! " she said. "I wish I was dead. Oh! I wish I was out of it all."