This passage from Michael Ridpath's novel, Free to Trade, seems nicely well-written:
"I was also lonely. It never usually bothered me to be by myself, but now I craved
someone to talk to. Someone who could help put everything into perspective. But
who was there? I could hardly talk to anyone from work. I did not have the courage
to admit what had happened to me to the odd scattering of friends and acquaintances
I had picked up over the years. I should have..., but I didn't. And the last person on
whom I could lay the burden of my troubles was my mother. I was well aware that
I would soon have to instruct solicitors about buying her cottage. How would I get
finance for it? Indeed, with trading now closed to me, it would be impossible for me
to get a job that paid enough...
"In my moments of loneliness, thoughts of Cathy frequently emerged. When I wished
to myself that there was someone I could talk to, that someone always became her.
I thought of the easy understanding we had developed in America, her sympathy
and interest in my life. I needed someone to be interested in it now" (page 312)
Isn't that it? The salve for loneliness is someone with whom we can let our guard
down--someone we respect, who also respects us and is genuinely interested in
our lives?
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