— from Alice Munro’s "What Is Remembered"
"All the way from Dundarave, she had listened to herself talking and been dismayed. It wasn’t so much that she was prattling, saying just anything that came into her head; rather, that she was trying to express things that seemed to her interesting, or that might have been interesting if she could get them into shape. But they probably sounded pretentious, if not insane, rattled off in the way she was doing. She must seem like one of those women who are determined not to have an ordinary conversation but a real one. And even though she knew that nothing was working, that her talk must seem to him an imposition, she was unable to stop herself."