Be that as it may, this doesn’t stop me thinking that I empathise too little with the lives of other people. Most conspicuously and persistently with regard to Linda. One of the many things she criticises me for is that I don’t see her. This is not quite true, I do see her, the problem is that I see her more or less in the way you see a room you know well; everything is there, the lamp and the carpet and the bookcase, the sofa and the window and the floor, but somehow transparently, no mark is left on your mind.
