Explore "The Mother's Recompense" by Edith Wharton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
She went out an hour later, her thoughts waltzing and eddying like the sunlit dust which the wind kept whirling round the corners in spasmodic gusts. Everything in her mind was hot and cold, and beating and blowing about, like the weather on that dancing draughty day; the very pavement of the familiar streets, and the angles of the buildings, seemed to be spinning with the rest, as if the heaviest substances had suddenly grown imponderable.
"It must," she thought, "be a little like the way the gravestones will behave on the Day of Judgment."