Daylight Seemed Then To Be The Physical

Novels Without Female Characters Were A Lifeless Desert.

By Measuring Individual Human Worth, The Novelist Reveals The Full Enormity Of The State

Had It Taken Her This Long To Discover That She Lacked Some Simple Mental Trick That Everyone Else Had, A Mechanism So Ordinary That No One Ever Mentioned It, An Immediate Sensual Connection To People And Events, And To Her Own Needs And Desires? All These Years She Had Lived In Isolation Within Herself And, Strangely, From Herself, Never Wanting Or Daring To Look Back.

She Sleepwalked From Moment To Moment, And Whole Months Slipped By Without Memory, Without Bearing The Faintest Imprint Of Her Conscious Will.

What Can It Be About Low Temperatures That Sharpens The Edges Of Objects?