All True Readers Have A Book, A

There Were Two Now Where They Had Been Three. David's Death Had Dismantled The Triangle, And An Enclosed Space Was Now Open. Two Points Are Unreliable; With Nothing To Anchor Them, There Is Nothing To Stop Them Drifting In Opposite Directions. If It Is String That Binds, It Will Eventually Snap And The Points Will Separate; If Elastic, They Will Continue To Part, Further And Further, Until The Strain Reaches Its Limit And They Are Pulled Back With Such Speed That They Cannot Help But Collide With Devastating Force.

Oh, There Was Harm Indeed For A Young Lady Flattered By The Brief Attentions Of A Handsome Man.

Reluctance To Begin Is Quick To Befriend Procrastination. . . .

She Says There Are Stories Everywhere And That People Who Wait For The Right One To Come Along Before Setting Pen To Paper End Up With Very Empty Pages.

She Felt Like A Fictional Character Who'd Escaped The Book In Which Her Creator Had Carefully And Kindly Trapped Her, Taken A Pair Of Scissors To Her Outline And Leaped, Free.