...of grieving alone

And Iona turns round so he can tell them how his son died, but just then the hunchback heaves a sigh of relief, and declares that they have finally arrived, thank goodness. After receiving his twenty kopecks, Iona spends a long time watching the revellers disappearing through a dark doorway. He is on his own again, and silence once again surrounds him... The grief which had gone for a short while comes back again and wrenches his heart with even greater force. In his agony, Iona's eyes anxiously scan the crowds pouring down both sides of the street: is there not one person out of those thousands who might listen to him? But the crowds throng past, noticing neither him nor his grief... His grief is immense and boundless. If you were to open up Iona's chest and pour all the grief out of it, you would probably flood the entire planet, yet it is not visible. It has managed to squeeze into such a minute receptacle that you would not be able to see it in brightest daylight.

[Grief, Chekhov, A.]