How often have I looked at him in this way? She asked herself. How often have I noticed or, indeed, listened to him? We talk, but do I actually listen, or is our conversation mainly a question of my waiting for him to stop and for it to be my turn to say something? For how many of us is that what conversation means - the setting up of our lines? (...)
They wen into the kitchen. Angus sniffed the air, just as Cyril had done: the smell of Domenica's coffee always seemed so much more delicious than the smell of the coffee he made for himself. Why, he wondered, does somebody not make a perfume, or an aftershave lotion perhaps, that mimicked that smell? Perfumes could be so overwhelming, so cloying by comparison; a person who brought with him or her some wafting reminder of coffee would surely be more appreciated (...)
The unbearable lightness of Scones -Alexander McCall Smith
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