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“Suddenly she was blinking hard. To cry now would be catastrophic—and yet the disappointment of it all weighed heavily on her shoulders. Because there was always a part of her—despite her understanding, cultivated over years of such disappointments, of where she would fall in any social hierarchy—there was always a part of her that hoped that this time would be different. That some graceful, lissome boy or girl would have the patience and acuity to pick Tracy out of a crowd, take notice of one of the positive qualities that she infrequently allowed herself to number: her sense of humor, or her drawing ability, or her singing voice, or her loyalty, her devotion to anyone who showed her even a modicum of interest.”

“I would remind myself of how many people there were like me, & how many people fall into the despair of loneliness, every day it happens, I would say, every day someone loses his connection to the world & then becomes the noble hermit, becomes connected to himself, the snake eating its tail, & then he must look steadily toward the lonely oversoul for help, he must or he will die. And then he becomes like I am, and the oversoul grows and expands lovingly and generously, and welcomes him as a member of its secret club. All of the people in the world who are lonely or sick or very sad.”

“Here is what I have always thought: that people, when they eat, are very dear. The eager lips, the flapping jaws, the trembling release of control-the guilty glances at one’s companions or at strangers. The focus, the great focus of eating. The pleasure in it. I remember-when I went out more-I remember watching people in restaurants. People who ate alone, lost in the pleasure of it, O the pleasure of it. Digging for food in the bottoms of their bowls, guarding their fork, bringing the food to their mouths. Staring off into some middle distance while chewing. Thinking of things known only to them. To watch others eat is a thing of joy to me. & it is the only time I can forgive myself for what I have become.”

“They spoke in abbreviations or acronyms, dropped syllables she did not think were expendable, made references to parts of popular culture that, to Ada, felt like distant unreachable rooms, the deepest chambers of a warren. She was 55 years old now...how much longer she wondered, could she stay relevant? It would be the Evies of the world who would effect the biggest changes in the coming years. Not her; not Gregory. There were still times when she wished she could be on the inside of things, as she had been when she was younger. It used to be that she was the one who picked up on cultural references instantly, to the exclusion of older people. Now she smiled uncertainly at the clips and bits her young colleagues sent one another.”