Emma dropped the paper. Her first impression was of a weak feeling in her stomach and in her knees; then of blind guilt, of unreality, of coldness, of fear; then she wished that it were already the next day. Immediately afterwards she realized that that wish was futile because the death of her father was the only thing that had happened in the world, and it would go on happening endlessly.
If I were asked to name the chief event in my life, I should say my father's library.
My father and he had cemented one of those English friendships which begin by avoiding intimacies and eventually eliminate speech altogether.
My father gave me free run of his library. When I think of my boyhood, I think in terms of the books I read.
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