...and Once Again Dexter Is Struck By

The Trick Of It, She Told Herself, Is To Be Courageous And Bold And Make A Different. Not Change The World Exactly, Just The Bit Around You. Go Out There With Your Double-first, Your Passion And Your New Smith Carona Electric Typewriter And Work Hard At ... Something. Change Lives Through Art Maybe. Write Beautifully. Cherish Your Friends, Stay True To Your Principles, Live Passionately And Fully And Well. Experience New Things. Love And Be Loved If At All Possible. East Sensibly. Stuff Like That.

Oh You Know Me. I Have No Emotions. I'm A Robot. Or A Nun. A Robot Nun.

For The Best Part Of My Childhood I Visited The Local Library Three Or Four Times A Week, Hunching In The Stacks On A Foam Rubber Stool And Devouring Children's Fiction, Classics, Salacious Thrillers, Horror And Sci-fi, Books About Cinema And Origami And Natural History, To The Point Where My Parents Encouraged Me To Read A Little Less.

She Had Never Been A Proficient Flirt. Her Spasms Of Kittenish Behaviour Were Graceless And Inept, Like Normal Conversation On Roller Skates. But The Combination Of The Retsina And Sun Made Emma Feel Sentimental And Light-headed. She Reached For Her Roller Skates.

You Must Do What You Enjoy.