Quite Like Old Times,' The Room Says.

It Was Like Letting Go And Falling Back Into Water And Seeing Yourself Grinning Up Through The Water, Your Face Like A Mask, And Seeing The Bubbles Coming Up As If You Were Trying To Speak From Under The Water. And How Do You Know What It's Like To Try To Speak From Under Water When You're Drowned?

You Imagine The Carefully Pruned, Shaped Thing That Is Presented To You Is Truth. That Is Just What It Isn't. The Truth Is Improbable, The Truth Is Fantastic; It's In What You Think Is A Distorting Mirror That You See The Truth.

Next Week, Or Next Month, Or Next Year I Will Kill Myself. But I Might As Well Last Out My Month's Rent, Which Has Been Paid Up.

Not That She Objected To Solitude. Quite The Contrary. She Had Books, Thank Heaven, Quantities Of Books. All Sorts Of Books.

When I Think About It, If I Had To Choose, I'd Rather Be Happy Than Write.