Thoughts are strange creatures. They lead you from one thing to another. Sometimes you donโt know how you got from one to the next.
Franny BillingsleyI should hate to be a regular girl with a sugar-plum voice. I should hate to have swan-like lashes, and a thick, sooty neck. I sound as though Iโm joking, I know, but I should truly hate to be like Leanne, so charming and ordinary and stuffed with clichรฉd feelings. Iโm glad Iโm the ice maiden. Who wants to be crying over every stray dog? Not I. Scratch my surface and what do you see? More surface.
Franny BillingsleyHe scooped up my arm, swung me round. โLet go, Cecil,โ I said. โIโve a strange dislike of being forced.โ โBut Briony,โ he said, โIโm so full of good spirits. I could walk to London, I think!โ Why didnโt he?
Franny BillingsleyThe handkerchief dabbed at my forehead. 'Ouch! You'll have a fine-looking bruise tomorrow.' 'Then you'll be able to distinguish me from Rose.' The handkerchief paused. 'I could tell you apart from the beginning. You're quite different to each other, you know.' Perhaps he could tell, in the obvious ways. The odd one was Rose; the other odd one was Briony.
Franny Billingsley