Sublime

Grace Macaulay, then: seventeen, small and plump, with skin that went brown by the end of May. Her hair was black and oily, and had the hot consoling scent of an animal in summer. She disliked books, and was by nature a thief if she found a thing to be beautiful, but not hers. She didn’t know she couldn’t sing. She was inclined to be cross.

ruth

Quite a strange man, thought James, watching him go – but what a relief to discover he still contained the capacity to be taken by surprise.

Hannah Littleton. Beloved Wife,

precocious.

Dermot that would feel my keep no more than the lake would feel the weight of the duck.