She looked down at the hand and saw that it was clutching instead a handful of perfume card samplers, each one sprayed with a different scent.
On the surface she might put on a good show, making fun of herself and her manless state, but inwardly it was hard sometimes not to wonder: Why me?
Last night. I couldn't put that book down. I was awake till four this morning finishing it. I didn't know reading could be like that, I had no idea.
It's me, though. It's my fault for being like this. I'm going to have to get used to it.
This was the next phase of her life and from now on, she wasn't going to take any rubbish from anyone. From now on she was going to decide what she wanted and go for it.
For ninety minutes now she had been listening to the Story of Kevin. Ninety minutes was the length of an entire film. She could have watched Anna Karenina and been less depressed.