” . . . What made Madeleine sit up in bed was something closer to the reason she reads books in the first place and had always loved them. Here is a sign that she wasn’t alone. Here was an articulation of what she had been so far mutely feeling. In bed on a Friday night, wearing sweatpants, her hair tied back, her glasses smudged, and eating peanut butter from the jar, Madeleine was in a state of extreme solitude. . . .”
I like that idea – extreme solitude, and yet not alone.
” . . . ‘Of or related to Leonard Bankhead (American, born 1959), characterized by excessive introspection or worry. Gloomy, depressive. See basket case.‘ . . .
“Hannaesque,” Leonard said. “Stubborn. Given to ironclad positions.”
“Hannarian,” Madeleine said. “Dangerous. Not to be messed with.”
“I stand warned.” . . .
” . . . Grief was physiological, a disturbance of the blood. . . .”
Yes. I have no insightful commentary, just yes, so yes!
” . . . A bruised ego reflected its own image. . . .”
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