It was as if a great abyss had opened up before Mary, and in it, she saw nothing before her but loneliness. In the space of a moment she understood how fervently she longed for affection. She would not say love, for that seemed too much to ask. A spark of fellow feeling would be enough, a little warmth to make the time pass more pleasurably. Her books alone, she realised, would never entirely suffice. Even her music seemed pointless. No-one cared what she played as long as it drew no adverse attention from others. Her chief purpose in life appeared to be the avoidance of notice. Her heart
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