They call them the haunted shores, these stretches of Devonshire and Cornwall and Ireland which rear up against the westward ocean. Mists gather here, and sea fog, and eerie stories. That's not because there are more ghosts here than in other places, mind you. It's just that people who live hereabouts are strangely aware of them.

Wakings are the worst times--almost before my eyes are open a great weight seems to roll on my heart.

I like seeing people when they can't see me.

I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.

Ah, but you're the insidious type--Jane Eyre with of touch of Becky Sharp. A thoroughly dangerous girl.

And no bathroom on earth will make up for marrying a bearded man you hate.

If you love people, you take them on trust.