The only thing worse, Viola realised, than being trapped in a small moving box was being trapped in a small moving box full of Lady Marleigh’s opinions. “We cannot be friends as we once were. He could find me repulsive or absurd or simply incomprehensible. And, even if he does not, I may still have destroyed for both of us the memory of everything we used to be.” “Or”—to be well acquainted with Lady Marleigh was to understand that fortitude was not always a virtue—“he could simply be happy you’re alive.”
