No, solitude did not trouble her. She could spend long minutes gazing out the window, hours listening to the BBC on the public radio station. She relished the very texture of her privacy, its depth...

…there are only two things that really matter in life. Literature and love.

One needed, she saw now, only a few belongings, just as one needed only a few close friends, and a single passion – it need not be a person, neccissarily.