Feb. 17th, 2011 08:16 pm
(no subject)
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There was no man in her life at the moment, no one to ring up and tell the news to. Even if there was, she thought that lovers never know the full story of one another, only know the bit they meet, never know the iceberg of hurts that have gone before, and therefore are always strangers, or semi-strangers, even in the folds of love. (Edna O'Brien, "A Rose in the Heart of New York")
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