By Joanne Horniman
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Badly. ’ Alex smiled. ’ Alex gestured for me to keep possession of the mint tea. He got up and walked over to the typewriter. A sheet of blank paper had been rolled into the carriage, but there was nothing written on it. He leaned over and took out the paper; it curled up at each end. ’ I wondered. ’ The words hung gloomily in the bare room like a small dark cloud. ’ ‘What does that mean, exactly? ’ I waited for his reply. Sophie had told me that you shouldn’t always let words rush in to fill empty conversational spaces.
The boy smiled. I smiled. ‘Hello’, we said, and stood there smiling at each other. ‘I’m Persephone,’ I told him. I was always trying to get people to call me by more glamorous names but they never did, probably because they were used to me being plain old Kate. ibbled notebooks 51 s ec r et s c r i b b l e d n ot e b o o k s ‘Alex,’ he said, and held out his hand. He had a soft line of down on his upper lip, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. Sophie was always telling me I shouldn’t stare at people so much, it disconcerted them.
In daily life. She seems to have been quite promiscuous – her lovers discreetly steal away from her in the early hours of the morning. She’s always writing lists. ), and Things That Cannot be Compared (summer and winter, night and day, and she also puts in this category) ‘When one has stopped loving somebody, one feels that he has become someone else, even though he is still the same person’. ). But the bit I like best is under When a Woman Lives Alone. She says that when a woman lives alone her house should be extremely dilapidated, the mud wall should be falling to pieces, and if there is a pond it should be overgrown with water-plants.