In reality, Miss Brill is a part of nothing. She sits alone on a bench with her ratty old fur and watches the world pass before her. She sees other people sitting on benches Sunday after Sunday and thinks of them as "funny...odd, silent, nearly all old...as though they'd just come from dark little rooms." Rather than see herself as one of them, she creates a fantasy world to escape facing the truth. Even in this seemingly perfect production, within Miss Brills mind, Mansfield shows us that there is the possibility of evil. Along come the "hero and heroine" of Miss Brills imagination and the nasty truth cuts like a knife. The young couple begin to ridicule and make fun of the "stupid, old, lonely lady that no body wants," and in that instant her dream is demolished and little world crumbles. Miss Brill solemnly walks home, passing up things that she used to look forward to. She sits on her bed, puts the fur back in its box, and thinks she hears something crying. The fur is symbolic of something old and lonely that has lost its beauty over the years. The fur is not crying...Miss Brill is. The fantasy is over and the truth must now sink in