She had red hair and angry skin. She heated up so quickly Treslove had always been frightened to get too near to her. ‘I am a rock,’ he insisted, from a distance. ‘I will be with you to the end.’ ‘Well, you’re right about that at least,’ she told him. ‘This is the end. I’m leaving you.’ ‘Just because I’m in demand?’ ‘Because you’re not in demand with me.’ ‘Please don’t leave. If I wasn’t a rock before, I’ll be a rock from now on.’ ‘You won’t. It isn’t in your nature.’ ‘Don’t I look after you when you’re ill?’ ‘You do. You’re marvellous to me when I’m ill. It’s when I’m well that you’re no
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Here is one more. This one from The Booker Prize winner, my melancholic favorite, Howard Jacobson.
