My Cholera's Acting Up Again.

You And I, We Must Carry On, Gemma. I Cannot Afford The Luxury Of Love. I Must Marry Well. And Now I Must Look After You. It Is My Duty." "if You Wish To Suffer, You Do So Of Your Own Free Will, Not On My Behalf. Or Father's Or Grandmama's Or Anyone's. You Are A Fine Physician, Thomas. Why Is That Not Enough?" "because It Isn't," He Says With A Rare Candor. "only This And The Hope Of Nothing More? A Quiet Respectability With No True Greatness Or Heroism In It, With Only My Reputation To Recommend Me. So You See, Gemma, You Are Not The Only One Who Cannot Rule Her Own Life.

I Can See His Pain, See It In The Way He Runs His Fingers Through His Hair, Over And Over, And I Understand What It Costs Him To Hide It All.

I Know Because I Read...your Mind Is Not A Cage. It's A Garden. And It Requires Cultivating.

There Are Times When One Friend Requires The Blind Faith Of Another.

No One Asks How Or What I Am Doing. They Could Not Care Less. We’re All Looking Glasses, We Girls, Existing Only To Reflect Their Images Back To Them As They’d Like To Be Seen. Hollow Vessels Of Girls To Be Rinsed Of Our Own Ambitions, Wants, And Opinions, Just Waiting To Be Filled With The Cool, Tepid Water Of Gracious Compliance. A Fissure Forms In The Vessel. I’m Cracking Open.