“Margot slipped her pocketbook over her shoulder to slip away. Maybe she was a bit drunk, maybe not drunk enough, preoccupied with an imaginary broken heart, a confused heart, she surrendered to the familiar sensation of being the only sad person at the party.”
―
Wendell Steavenson,
Margot
“There is a certain privacy in loneliness. The feeling was very familiar to Margot and she found false comfort in it, drawing it around herself like a blanket.”
―
Wendell Steavenson,
Margot