She always struck me as being older than her years.” He frowned. “Not old really, more . . .” “Mature?” I suggested. He shook his head. “No. I don’t know a good word for it. It’s like if you look at a great oak tree. You don’t appreciate it because it’s older than the other trees, or because it’s taller. It just has something that other younger trees don’t. Complexity, solidity, significance.”
