"I am on the edge...yes, maybe. I am on the edge," on an impulse Ira turned her head to see the path her feet followed. It had ended.
A deep - horrifying deep gorge lay beneath her feet. She was standing on the edge of a fatally dangerous cleft.

When you walk a path without eyeing, you throw up many risks. Ira did the same, and forged an unforgettable episode of love, desire and deceit that history had to remember.
In doing so she had pulled on to herself a whirlwind of painful emotions and undying agony.
What was the way left out for her? Or was there a way at all?