Bookmarker is a personal project by @dellsystem to help with retaining reading material. Source on GitHub.

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5 months ago

the whole city cries out with life—

When they travelled to Rome that spring of 1964, she found Francis introspective and self-absorbed. On May 30, recalling how she had the previous year so much imagined their “combined presence” there, she recorded her disappointment, her sense of prospects thwarted:

Borghese Gardens. Here I sit …

—p.260 Shirley Hazzard: A Writing Life Amitié Littéraire: 1963–1966 (243) by Brigitta Olubas
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5 months ago

his grief is sacred

In their arguments, she was distressed to find her behaviour echoing her mother’s:

Lean on sink, after days of feigning unawareness or of showing concern; think “I could always die.” Comes, is furious to find tears. We sit down, on floor and sofa. “I asked you if you would look after me” (Hars…

—p.259 Amitié Littéraire: 1963–1966 (243) by Brigitta Olubas
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5 months ago

is it because you feel guilty?

They were back in New York at the end of January, and Francis decided, “even after Fez and Meknes,” not to proceed with Delacroix. Shirley moved into Manhattan House and, as spring approached, sat through the day in the building’s elegant garden, working on her novel. In February she heard of the d…

—p.259 Amitié Littéraire: 1963–1966 (243) by Brigitta Olubas
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5 months ago

wonders whether he has committed himself to anything

The uncertainty continued after they returned to New York. “He leaves books, letters, a lock of hair, an Augustus John reproduction that looks like me—phone calls … He doesn’t know what he wants.” Shirley joined him in Connecticut on the first day of summer, they had lunch with his old high school …

—p.252 Amitié Littéraire: 1963–1966 (243) by Brigitta Olubas
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5 months ago

he could not get used to difference in our ages

Francis was at pains to explain his situation to her. Shirley summarised this later to Muriel:

A lot of remarks about not getting serious, I mustn’t think of this as love, etc. interspersed with displays of emotion, and passionate attention. I not knowing where I was in all this. Constant talk…

—p.252 Amitié Littéraire: 1963–1966 (243) by Brigitta Olubas