Sublime

Even in the fairytales which I had read greedily as a child I had been disturbed by the absence of pity, by the slyness and guile that was regarded as quickwittedness.

I had somehow failed to make the transition from acquaintance to familiar, and further eagerness on my part would be counterproductive.

She is old, I thought with a tremor, but it was impossible to feel pity. Pity is for the weak, the incompetent, the unsuccessful: Muriel was none of these things.

During the few days I spent alone after my mother’s death I was able to observe a slight alteration in my behaviour.

life was simple only when one concurred with the wishes of others.

One thing was certain: I was not destined for the happiness of a settled life, whether or not I longed for it: I was not one of the elect.

I suppose that I shall keep everything as she left it, since I have nowhere else to go. And anyway I am fond of Montagu Mansions, and I can walk to work in Gower Street and back again in the evening. Come to think of it my life is as divorced from the world as my mother’s had been. Yet I find it impossible to imagine her as ever having entertained