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The gloss would fade in about five minutes as the surface dried; but everything faded. The vital thing was to make the most of the moments of brightness.
It was like a cure, being with Lilian. It made one feel like a piece of wax being cradled in a soft, warm palm.
Was this, she thought, what happened when one made friends with a married woman? One automatically got the husband too?—like a crochet pattern, coming free with a magazine?
Some things are so frightful that a bit of madness is the only sane response.
For was that all, she thought bleakly, that love ever was? Something that saved one from loneliness? A sort of insurance policy against not counting?
how decency, loyalty, courage, how it all shrivelled away when one was frightened.
