Guardó silencio unos instantes. Luego se volvió y se marchó, incapaz de sentir pena. Le pasaba lo mismo que a un medidor Geiger: expuesto a tal cantidad de radioactividad, su lectura siempre tendía a cero.

To have felt too much is to end in feeling nothing.

She rarely showed her emotions, which appeared to have been burned out by the continual short-circuiting of her attention.

She was just a shell of her former self, functioning and talking but hardly alive.

A splendidly inept thing," Sylveste said, nodding despite himself. "What?" "The human capacity for grief. It just isn't capable of providing an adequate emotional response once the dead exceed a few dozen in number. And it doesn't just level off—it just gives up, resets itself to zero. Admit it. None of us feel a damn about these people.

Heavy metal, drugs and sexual passion had dissolved her brain to a certain point where she no longer distinguished between dead and living persons.

...I think apparatus burned out all over the ward trying to adjust to her come busting in like she did-took electronic readings on her and calculated they weren't built to handle something like this on the ward, and just burned out, like machines committing suicide.

was suspended in a place of no feeling,

All sense of reality had gone out of her life; she had abandoned herself to fate, and awaited the consequences with indifference.

Her lack of interest might have been interpreted as a lack of caring, but it was only a side effect of permanent exhaustion.

She was too busy feeling grief to dress like grief.

Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for a better preparation for death.

She felt worthless and hollow. There was no hope of fixing this.
And when hope is gone, time is punishment.

…the pain of neuralgia…she knew what they thought. That she was cold. Couldn't feel. But in fact she felt too much. Too deeply.