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Anne listened without quite understanding it. Allowances, large allowances, she knew, must be made for the ideas of those who spoke. She hear it all under embellishment.

The flame of life burned visibly in her with an even glow. A miracle to turn aside and see - the bush burning and not consumed. One could read it in her eye, a serene unclouded eye, that never blazed and was never dimmed. An eye, moreover, that never saw too much.

We lived without silence. The sound of the Telly or radio was a constant companion, but there was a terrible, noisy silence about the way we used to live.
Once you stop listening, you begin to hear.

…’I suppose instinct makes you save that which you’re most in danger of losing.’

Chats about what it was before The End, things like the internet, which was massive and full of knowledge and pictures and words, but no one knew where it really was. Or wars, when important people argue and then got less important people to kill one another.