Granna's rag rug still lay on the floor near the hearth, but it was more rag than rug now, and terribly dirty beside. The bawneen curtains were gone from the window, having been used to make bedding for wee Thomsy's cradle; …

Oh, what a perfect thought. Lilies-of-the-valley, and white pansies, double white violets and white velvet ribbon… From an unknown friend. … From one who understands. … For a Little Girl.

With assembly line consistency, Martin receives countless rejections from faceless editors—a triggering reminder for any literary hopeful navigating the modern culture industry.

Trefusis's quarters could be described in one word. Books. Books and books and books. And then, just when an observer might be lured into thinking that that must be it, more books... Trefusis himself was highly dismissive of them. ‘Waste of trees,’ he had once said. ‘Stupid, ugly, clumsy, heavy things. The sooner technology comes up with a reliable alternative the better... The world is so fond of saying that books should be “treated with respect”. But when are we told that words should be treated with respect?’