Thoughts are strange creatures. They lead you from one thing to another. Sometimes you don’t know how you got from one to the next.
Franny BillingsleyThe beach has a language of its own, with its undulating ribbons of silt, the imponderable hieroglyphs of bird tracks. The receding waves catch on innumerable holes in the sand. Bubbles form and fade. A new language, with a new alphabet.
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 BillingsleyIt's strange how a person can have a distinct distaste for herself, but still she clutches on to life.
Franny Billingsley