““Painting for him, she had realized then, was neither a hobby nor just a way of earning a living. It was a passion and a compulsion. In a certain sense it was who he was. She envied him. She had never been passionate about anything in her life. She had never allowed herself to be. She had deliberately shunned any excess of feeling as ungenteel. It was almost as though she had feared passion and where it might lead her.””
