Coming Home
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Read between December 8, 2024 - January 18, 2025
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They're impossible. Dug deep into their rut. No point in trying to brighten their lives, because then they wouldn't have anything to moan about.’ ‘They're old.’ ‘No, they're not. They've simply embraced decrepitude. I shouldn't worry about them, when you've got so much else on your plate.’
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I hate us all being torn apart. It makes me feel as though I don't belong anywhere. You know, sometimes I get this most extraordinary feeling…as though I were in a sort of limbo, without any identity. It happens just when I'm least expecting it. Riding on top of a London bus, or leaning over the rail of some P and O liner, watching the wake of the ship creaming away into the past. And I think, what am I doing here? And where am I meant to be? And who am I?’
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‘I think you must learn to precipitate situations, not be passive and simply let them happen to you. You must learn to be selective, about the friends you make and the books you read. An independence of spirit, I suppose that's what I'm talking about.’ She smiled. ‘George Bernard Shaw said that youth is wasted on the young. It's only when you get to be old that you begin to understand what he was talking about.’
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She got no further. Because something, obviously, was terribly wrong. Her mother sat there, in her armchair by the fire, but the face she turned to Judith was stricken with despair and made swollen and ugly by weeping. A half-emptied tumbler stood on the table by her side, and on the floor at her feet were shed, like leaves, the scattered flimsy pages of a close-written letter. ‘Mummy!’ Instinctively, she closed the door behind her. ‘Whatever is it?’ ‘Oh, Judith.’ She was across the carpet and kneeling by her mother's side. ‘But what is it?’ The horror of seeing her parent in tears was worse ...more
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Slamming the drawer shut, glancing up, she faced her own reflection in the mirror, and saw that she looked almost as distraught and anxious as her weeping mother downstairs. Which wouldn't do at all. One of them had to be strong and sensible, otherwise everything was going to fall to pieces. She took a deep breath or two and composed herself.
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She remembered her father saying, ‘Beware of the first man who speaks to you on the P & O boat, for he will surely be the ship's bore,’ and his wise words had stayed with her.
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‘What is the point of having a car,’ Loveday asked, ‘if you never drive?’ Judith felt that perhaps she had been rather disloyal, and should now stick up for her absent mother. ‘Well, it's better than being like my aunt Louise, who drives her Rover at about a hundred miles an hour, and usually on the wrong side of the road. Mummy used to dread going anywhere with her.’
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Alone. She realised how much she had missed the luxury of solitude, and knew that its occasional comfort would always be essential to her. The pleasure of being on one's own was not so much spiritual as sensuous, like wearing silk, or swimming without a bathing suit on, or walking along a totally empty beach with the sun on your back. One was restored by solitude. Refreshed.
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Trollope was such a comforting man; reading him was like having someone take you by the hand and gently lead you back into an easier past.
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The most important thing to remember, to be grateful for, is that your aunt has bequeathed to you not just her worldly goods, but a privilege that comes to few. And that is the right to be yourself. An entity. A person. Living life on your own terms with no other person to answer to. You probably won't appreciate this until you are older, but I promise you that one day you will realise the importance of what I am telling you.
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Something to think about. Something to look forward to. Life was nothing without something to look forward to.
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‘I'm so glad,’ she told him, in a burst of contentment that was almost happiness, ‘that we didn't go to The Mitre.’
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‘There's always a wind at night. It's a present from the sea. Tonight it's a Christmas present.’ And with that, and no further ado, he put his arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her. She
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Propinquity…(she
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‘But, darling, what are we going to do with you?’ Diana asked in some perplexity. ‘I'll stay at home.’ ‘You can't simply moulder here. You'll turn into a cabbage.’
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‘Seems a shame to go,’ said Heather as they pulled on cotton frocks and stuffed their haversacks with wet bathing-things and the detritus of their picnic. She turned to look at the sea which, in the altering light, had miraculously taken on a different hue, for now it was no longer jade but a deep aquamarine blue. She said, ‘You know, it won't ever be like this again. Not ever. Just you and me, and this place and this time. Things only happen once. Do you ever think that, Judith? It can be a bit the same, of course, but never quite the same.’ Judith understood. ‘I know.’
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‘Are you near the sea?’ ‘No. Just the river.’ ‘But rivers aren't the same as the sea, are they?’ ‘No. Not a bit the same.’ Loveday fell silent, thinking about this, digging her chin into her knees. ‘I don't think I could live away from the sea.’ ‘It's not so bad.’ ‘It's worse than bad. It's torture.’ He smiled. ‘As bad as that?’ ‘Yes. And I know because when I was about twelve I was sent off to boarding-school in Hampshire, and I nearly expired. It was all wrong. I felt like an alien. Everything was the wrong shape, the houses and the hedges and even the sky. I always felt the sky was sitting ...more
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The truth is, I'm tired and miserable and depressed and I've run out of the energy to go on pretending that I'm anything else. So I came to bed and told Edgar I was feeling ill. He'd much rather I felt ill than have me unhappy.’
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She yawned and stretched, and settled back again on her pillows and thought how perfect it would be if sleep could not only restore one but iron out all anxieties in the same process, so that one could wake with a totally clear and untroubled mind, as smooth and empty as a beach, washed and ironed by the outgoing tide. But that was not to be. She awoke, and all her pressing anxieties at once crowded about her and raised their heads again. They had simply been waiting for her.
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She said, ‘Why should it be re-plenished? You never say to someone, “Will you plenish me a drink.”’
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Judith, prudently, made no answer to this. She thought, I have to be very practical and very cool, otherwise we're going to have the most resounding row, and say terrible things that can never be unsaid, and that's not going to be any help at all.
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‘Who was it who said that marriage was a summer birdcage, set out in a garden? And all the birds of the air wanted to get in, and all the caged birds wanted to get out?’
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