Diwa has money. She is not rich, but comfortable. Six years my senior, she is very time efficient and also good-looking, like a fifty-something ballet teacher who used to be a prima ballerina before a tragic knee injury. All tight hair knots and sharp elbows and soft knitted dresses over small breasts. She looks stern but she’s not.

Okay Days, Jenny Mustard

The magazine photograph showed a girl in a strapless evening dress of fuzzy white stuff, grinning fit to split, with a whole lot of boys bending in around her. The girl was holding a glass full of a transparent drink and seemed to have her eyes fixed over my shoulder on something that stood behind me, a little to my left.

The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath