At that moment, the urge to be writing was stronger than any notion she had of what she might write.

was it possible that i was, in the modern term, in denial?

I've never had a moment's doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life.

I couldn't think about novels at all. It seemed the only writing that was appropriate to that horrendous event was journalism, reportage. And, in fact, I think the profession rose quite honorably to the task. Novelists require a slower turnover, I mean, in time.

...the world she ran through loved her and would give her what she wanted and would let it happen.

Let the guilty bury the innocent, and let no one change the evidence

We knew so little about eachother. We lay mostly submerged, like ice floes with our visible social selves projecting only cool and white. Here was a rare sight below the waves, of a man's privacy and turmoil, of his dignity upended by the overpowering necessity of pure fantasy, pure thought, by the irreducible human element - Mind.