I spoke with him as I had seldom spoken with anyone, apart from David, and as I did so, I was not the wilful little girl, not the secretive girl with the gloomy expression and the pathological curiosity, the one everyone was always worrying about. I was just me. And it was such a relief not to have to make an effort; and he simply sat there, sipping at his milk bottle and listening to me, smiling now and then or shaking his head as if in agreement, frowning, smacking his lips
