Ophelia,' said the boy. He said it very quietly. She didn't like the way he said that at all. He sounded sad and as though he expected more from her.
'And how do you know my name anyways?' she said. 'I never told you it, not once.'
'I heard it once, a long time ago.'
He was full of mysterious sentences like that.
Her name had the likeness of a name. She had the likeness of a woman, with hands but no face at all, since she never let herself see it. She had the likeness of a life, because she was all alone in it. She lived in the likeness of a house, with walls and a roof and a door that kept nothing in and nothing out.