It was not that she did not want to stop - it was more like she could not. If laughter were matter she would have been foaming at the mouth.
She laughed even harder at that image.
Yet her laughter did not spring from joy - it was a torrent of derision, with a trickle of bitterness.
But no one could tell.
Crazy, they thought. She's crazy.
She liked to agree with them. "Yes," she would say. "I am."
And then, as if they needed more convincing, she would repeat herself.
"I am."
At this point, most people would have given up - or they would have gotten used to it.
And so they let her laughed.
***
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