She Knew That This Was Happiness, This

Writing Every Book Is Like A Purge; At The End Of It One Is Empty ... Like A Dry Shell On The Beach, Waiting For The Tide To Come In Again.

The Peace Of Manderley. The Quietude And The Grace. Whoever Lived Within Its Walls, Whatever Trouble There Was And Strife, However Much Uneasiness And Pain, No Matter What Tears Were Shed, What Sorrows Borne, The Peace Of Manderley Could Not Be Broken Or The Loveliness Destroyed.

When She Smiled It Was As Though She Embraced The World.

There's Something About Paris That Gives You A Mental Slap All The Time, And You Can't Just Sit Still And Do Nothing. You've Got To Work, To Keep Up With The Pace, The Sting In The Atmosphere.

No, Mary Had No Illusions About Romance. Falling In Love Was A Pretty Name For It, That Was All.