I have loved the spaces of my friends—Islington’s library, Pierce’s studio, Saffronia’s Thrush’s Victory, Mary’s haphazard room filled with papers and strewn bits of clothing, and even the atelier of The Hound—but this room, this very small room, made me feel something I’d not experienced before. It was dear. It was to be safeguarded. I felt the desire to take off my shoes.
Every time she mentions Pierce, Islington, and Hawkes, it feels like a rendition of Goldilocks and the Three Bears…
Not to mention, what was that about a man being the other half of home?
