If You're Not In The

I Am A Kind Of Paranoid In Reverse. I Suspect People Of Plotting To Make Me Happy.

We Are, All Four Of Us, Blood Relatives, And We Speak A Kind Of Esoteric, Family Language, A Sort Of Semantic Geometry In Which The Shortest Distance Between Any Two Points Is A Fullish Circle.

The Rest, With Very Little Exaggeration, Was Books. Meant-to-be-picked-up Books. Permanently-left-behind Books. Uncertain-what-to-do-with Books. But Books, Books. Tall Cases Lined Three Walls Of The Room, Filled To And Beyond Capacity. The Overflow Had Been Piled In Stacks On The Floor. There Was Little Space Left For Walking, And None Whatever For Pacing.

She Was Not One For Emptying Her Face Of Expression.

That's The Whole Trouble. When You're Feeling Very Depressed, You Can't Even Think.