“Was it so wrong to relish the feeling anyway? To enjoy the way it lingered, leaving her with a wistful awareness, a pleasant unease, as if she had forgotten to do something? Yes, it probably was wrong. But she did not wish it away.”

“Petunia only ever went to the doctor reluctantly, and her motive in doing so was always the same: she did it in order to feel less anxious about things. The doctor was supposed to make the worry go away; she did quite enough worrying without actually having something to worry about. When she came out feeling no less anxious, as this time, something had gone wrong. The basic contract had been broken.”

“She has failed. She wishes she didn't mind. Something, she thinks, is wrong with her.”

“She had to tell him, while she still had time, how wrong he’d been and how right she’d been. How wrong not to love her more, how wrong not to cherish her and have sex at every opportunity, how wrong not to trust her financial instincts, how wrong to have spent so much time at work and so little with the children, how wrong to have been so negative, how wrong to have been gloomy, how wrong to have run away from life, how wrong to have said no, again and again, instead of yes: she had to tell him all of this, every single day.”

“They did the whole lingering gaze thing, following it with the glancing-away, smiling-knowingly routine. She felt vivacious, a feeling she remembered, she was enjoying the self-confidence, the larkiness.”

“It felt like the wrong thing to do, standing at the wrong door in the wrong place. We did it anyway. Knowing something is wrong and doing it anyway happens very often in life, and I doubt I will eer know why.”