The days seem to have been ripped off the boughs, like the dry leaves spread over the dying grass on the ground, the climate seems to be writing requiems on those dry departing companions, the town appears to be afflicted. There ought to be some relief somewhere.I was surprised to see how you wrote about love and body, how beautifully you infused your stories with tragic romanticism, and how every line seemed to be pulling the readers! On the back cover of your book, there was a black and white picture of your face. Even in that black and white photo, I could find a lot more about you.