She always seemed anxious to talk to me. She even gave the
impression that she needed some sort of connection with me, although the nature
of that connection was never revealed. The problem was that whenever she did
talk to me, she always did so from the top of a crenelated stone wall while I
stood on the field below; and between us there was ever a moat, a raised drawbridge,
a portcullis and a barbican. It was a position of impregnability from which she
could step away and disappear at any moment of her choosing, and that’s what she
always did.
I don’t think she ever checks into this blog now so she’ll
never know I was talking about her. (Or even thinking of her.)
There’s a lot of tension in the air at the moment. I intend
to make another post on January 14th if not before. It will probably
be massively and unremittingly self-centred.
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