The Blithedale Romance by Nathaniel Hawthorne Chapter 27 Page 21

could not dread it, — where, in childhood, they used to bathe their little feet, wading mid-leg deep, unmindful of wet skirts. But in Zenobia’s case there was some tint of the Arcadian affectation that had been visible enough in all our lives for a few months past.

This, however, to my conception, takes nothing from the tragedy. For, has not the world come to an awfully sophisticated pass, when, after a certain degree of acquaintance with it, we cannot even put ourselves to death in whole-hearted simplicity? Slowly, slowly, with many a dreary pause, — resting the bier often on some rock or balancing it across a mossy log, to take fresh hold, — we bore our burden onward through the moonlight, and at last laid Zenobia on the floor of the old farmhouse.