she realized that the creeping, gnawing feeling that had wrapped itself around her like a pair of dark, damp wings was loneliness. A deep and profound loneliness. Polly wondered why she should feel such a thing. She and Nora seldom spoke; they rarely saw one another anymore. Her mother’s death made no demonstrable difference to her daily life, yet something inside her had plunged since receiving the news. She had come to the conclusion that being lonely wasn’t the same thing as being alone. Polly had been alone for decades. She didn’t mind it. Even as a young girl, she hadn’t been the sort to
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