This book in all its beauty wrenches my heart. The heroine dies, and I feel happy and sad at the same time. Lucy's vivacity is infectious. Her innermost loneliness is paralyzing. Over and over again, Lucy would say she is unloved. Ann would say that is not true because I love you. Lucy would say not like that. I need a boyfriend. The tragedy is not Lucy's face. The tragedy is to have pursued intimate love with so much vigor and to still have gone through life without knowing intimate love, without knowing what it is to be truly desired.