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Of one thing, though, she was sure: “I want to travel,” she confessed.Books were making her restless. She was beginning to read, faster, more, until she was inside the narrative and the narrative inside her, the pages going by so fast, her heart in her chest – she couldn’t stop… And pictures of the chocolaty Amazon, of stark Patagonia in the National Geographics, a transparent butterfly snail in the sea, even of an old Japanese house slumbering in the snow… – She found they affected her so much she could often hardly read the accompanying words – the feeling they created was so exquisite, the desire so painful.
