Thomas watched with fright, deeply afraid that Matilda would climb over. He knew her capabilities well, and if she really did try to suddenly cross over, he might not be able to catch her in time.
Thomas cried out, "Matilda, don't, the wind is strong on the bridge. Let's go back."
Matilda stared unblinkingly at the river water below. "Don't what? Am I not normal?"
"Matilda, you... you..." Thomas struggled to find the right words.
Matilda turned her head to face Thomas. "Do you think I should be ripping my heart out crying, then starving and pining to death in grief, tragically hurting myself with all kinds of foolish acts?"
Thomas didn't speak, but deep down, he really did wish Matilda would have a good cry, at least not repressing herself, at the very least letting it all out.
Her calmness was frightening.
The grief within a person needs an outlet; if it's not released, that kind of negative energy... could crush a person.
