She Was Overstrained With Grief And Loneliness:

Nancy Had A Mouth Like A Remembered Kiss.

But With Every Word She Was Drawing Further And Further Into Herself, So He Gave That Up, And Only The Dead Dream Fought On As The Afternoon Slipped Away, Trying To Touch What Was No Longer Tangible, Struggling Unhappily, Undespairingly, Toward That Lost Voice Across The Room.

That Is Part Of The Beauty Of All Literature. You Discover That Your Longings Are Universal Longings, That You're Not Lonely And Isolated From Anyone. You Belong.

They Talked Aimlessly Back And Forth, Each Speaking For The Other.

Most Affectations Conceal Something Eventually, Even Though They Don't In The Beginning.