“She had something she needed to talk about, but if she actually put it into words, the facts contained in the "something" might irretrievably become more definite *as* facts, so she wanted to postpone that moment, if only briefly.”

“She was irritated, briefly, by the thought that she might be becoming more mature. Why should she become a better person when no one else did?”

“I wondered if she was trying to convey something to me, something she could not put into words - something prior to words that she could not grasp within herself and which therefore had no hope of ever turning into words.”

“She didn't like to be talked about. Equally, she didn't like not to be talked about, when the high-minded chatter rushed on as though she was not there. There was no pleasing her, in fact. She had the grace, even at eleven, to know there was no pleasing her. She thought a lot, analytically, about other people's feelings, and had only just begun to realize that this was not usual, and not reciprocated.”

“She had lived her early years as though she were waiting for something she might, but never did, become.”

“She talked about wanting to be a part of something, wanting to be desired, to be 'special', craving to be loved. She talked about experiencing the kind of loneliness so immense it could swallow you up. She called it 'loneliness that crowds couldn't cure'.”