And she walked away, and she walked away, and that was that, and that was that.

He always did the leaving. But not this time. She kept walking, and did not look back.

She loved like she was going to war, but she was also not the kind of woman to wait for a man. Valiant in battle, noble in defeat. She walked away and never looked back.

At last, she makes her choice. She turns around, drops her head, and walks toward a horizon she cannot see. After that, she does not look back anymore. She knows that if she does, she will weaken.

He walked down, for a long while avoiding looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one does the sun, without looking.

She was saying goodbye and she didn't even know it.

Eyes blurred, she drove away. Alone, buzzing down the asphalt trail to Kayenta, heart beating, her pistons leaping madly up and down, Bonnie Abbzug relapsed into the sweet luxury of tears. Hard to see the road. She turned on the windshield wipers but that didn't help much.

She walked right on past, ignoring him just like she chose to ignore the way nature had tagged her with those outsized badges of femininity, just like she was above him, and sex, and everything else that’s weak and of the flesh.

A woman goes walking down a thousand-mile road. Twenty minutes after she steps forth, they proclaim that she still has nine hundred ninety-nine miles to go and will never get anywhere.

The moment had passed, and, disquieted, she walked away from me, carrying within her an ocean of pain and happiness, a wild storm of conflict and struggle.

And she walked away in silence, It's strange, how you never know, But we'd both gotten what we'd asked for, Such a long, long time ago.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects.

When a woman forgets gossip, McGee, she is nearing the end of her road.

She didn’t care. Not caring was how she got through the day.