This Isn't A Letter, It's

A Moment Passed, Perhaps Half A Second When Their Faces Said What They Felt, And Then Emma Was Smiling, Laughing, Her Arms Around His Neck.

Who Do You Think You Are, Jane Eyre? Grow Up. Be Sensible. Don't Get Carried Away.

The Future Rose Up Ahead Of Her, A Succession Of Empty Days, Each More Daunting And Unknowable Than The One Before Her.

As The Possibility Of A Relationship Had Faded, Emma Had Endeavored To Harden Herself To Dexter's Indifference And These Days A Remark Like This Caused No More Pain Than, Say, A Tennis Ball Thrown Sharply At The Back Of Her Head.

I Would Never Complain About One Day Taking Off But It Made Me Painfully Self-conscious For A Long Time.