“Today she wears her habitual expression of strained anxiety; she smells of violets.”

“She stops chewing and brings the chains on her wrist up to her nose and sniffs. She pulls away with a mild disgusted expression. "Definitely smells like a skank...”

“Her expression falls slightly as she senses that my walls are up and she's not nearly strong enough to climb over. Not even today when she is leukaemia's version of Superwoman.”

“She was wearing the same clothes, but now she looked haggard and dirty. The delicate illusions that get us through life can only stand so much strain.”

“She was not often invited to join in the conversation of the others, nor did she desire it. Her own thoughts and reflections were habitually her best companions.”

“I wasn’t sure what expression I was expecting her to wear when she saw that it was me. I’d braced myself for disgust or anger. But she justlooked at me like I was — nothing. An annoyance, maybe.”