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the awful banality of “getting on with it” was its own horror.
That was the promise you made when you fell head over heels in love, really, she thought. Not that you wouldn’t have problems, but that no problem would be the sort where you couldn’t find the solution together.
“Things have come to a pretty pass when a woman can’t go for five mojitos, two toots of coke, a bump of ket, and a game of strip Boggle in the Britannia Hotel without being called loose anymore,”
Her powers were returning. She’d met Dan when she was eighteen, when she had the confidence to stride up to a bunch of lads in freshers’ week and tell them she’d sort the problem out. That girl wasn’t created by him, she existed already.
