Daylight Seemed Then To Be The Physical

She Had Lolled About For Three Years At Girton With The Kind Of Books She Could Equally Have Read At Home--jane Austen, Dickens, Conrad, All In The Library Downstairs, In Complete Sets. How Had That Pursuit, Reading The Novels That Others Took As Their Leisure, Let Her Think She Was Superior To Anyone Else?

The Moment You Lose Curiosity In The World, You Might As Well Be Dead.

These Were Everyday Sounds Magnified By Darkness. And Darkness Was Nothing - It Was Not A Substance, It Was Not A Presence, It Was No More Than An Absence Of Light.

This Commonplace Cycle Of Falling Asleep And Waking, In Darkness, Under Private Cover, With Another Creature, A Pale Soft Tender Mammal, Putting Faces Together In A Ritual Of Affection, Briefly Settled In The Eternal Necessities Of Warmth, Comfort, Safety, Crossing Limbs To Draw Nearer - A Simple Daily Consolation, Almost Too Obvious, Easy To Forget By Daylight.

I Don't Hold Grudges.