Downie by Selma Lagerlof

How very improperly "it" behaved the morning they were to leave! During the two days after the ball "it" had been rather something inspiring, something exciting; but now when Downie is to leave, when "it" realizes that the end has come, that "it" will never play any part in her life, then it changes to a death thrust, to a deathly coldness.

She feels as if she were dragging a body of stone down the stairs to the breakfast-room. She stretches out a heavy, cold hand of stone when she says good morning; she speaks with a slow tongue of stone; smiles with hard stone lips. It is a labor, a labor.