there i was deep into the night my-living room feeling large like an armory, they left me. harry, penelope, charlotte they went off and lived happily ever after and did not turn around to see if i wanted to come along. It is as it always was for me and i am sure for many of you a time where you are coming close to the end of a book where you start to feel sad, not sad for the characters but for yourself somehow they invited you into their lives without objection. you smelled their cigarette as they lit it, you admired there dress you even swear you could taste the scone they where about to devour. you also cry for them and try to warn them. even when the book is put down you still think about them and can't wait to get back to them and you do. the end of the book always seems like the beginning of there lives without you in it...
