29 July 2016

The Years / Virginia Woolf

Perhaps because she had been travelling, it seemed as if the ship were still padding softly through the sea, as if the train were still swinging from side to side as it rattled across France. She felt as if things were moving past her as she lay stretched on the bed under the single sheet. But it's not the landscape any longer, she thought; it's people's lives, their changing lives.

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