No, she wasn't losing language. She was choking on it.

...looking at him makes her feel like laughing all over - as if she could laugh not just with her mouth but with her eyes, her heart, her very limbs.

It’s the place of the story, beginning here, in the meadow of late summer flowers, thriving before the Atlantic storms drive wet and winter upon them all.

Okay let's get this over with, no I'm not seasick, yes I've always been green, No I didn't eat grass as a child.

Are you the dart?" he said. "Are you the knife? The fuse?" She said (though he wasn't convinced): "My deane, my poppet, I am too green to walk into a public place and do something bad.

That's all I want- to do no harm.

Even God used silence as a strategy.