I took my nail scissors from the dressing-case and cut the page, looking over my shoulder like a criminal. I cut the page right out of the book. I left no jagged edges, and the book looked white and clean when the page was gone. A new book, that had not been touched. I tore the page up in many little fragments and threw them into the wastepaper basket.
Like a child. A little jealous child who has not yet learned that people have had lives before they met them. A child that has not yet learned empathy. Who's incapable of controling their selfish and destructive urges so they act on them withoit thinking of the consequenses or how their behaviour affects another.
