E. R. Punshon

“ But mingled with these were other and lovelier figures, young men and maidens pursuing their artless wooing under the trees of the London park as their first parents had done in the Garden of Eden. One couple strayed near the silent, motionless figure on the bench. They did not see her. Why should they? They faced each other, and their lips met in a long embrace. They passed on, unheeding and unaware of the girl on the bench, who now was trembling from head to foot, shaken with the dawn of memory returning as with the throes of a new birth. ”

“ But the girl walked away in the very strangest tumult of mind and feeling and sensation it is possible to conceive. She wondered if she were really dead; if perhaps in some way she were Beatrice Glynn come back to life. She even wondered if she were some other’s soul inhabiting the body of dead Beatrice Glynn!
“This is more awful than anything,” she said, pushing her hands against her burning temples that throbbed as if they would burst. “It is awful enough not to know who one really is, but more awful still to suspect that one is really dead.” ”

“ Exhausted, she returned to the park and sat down on a bench. A kind of peace settled on her, the stupor of absolute fatigue. It is true she still had no idea of her own identity or whence she came, but then she no longer cared. The matter had ceased to interest her. It was enough for her to sit and watch those who passed by, idly to note their appearance, to wonder faintly who they were and if they all possessed that tremendous and unsearchable knowledge of themselves. It began to grow late. A park-keeper passing by noticed her and thought of speaking, but did not. ”