by Susan Roberts
"She was starting to think that maybe she belonged in this terrible, beautiful place, with its convict-built mansions, its dense bush and strange animals. The eucalyptus with their half-shed bark and woolly foliage, the orange lichen that spread like molten lava across the rocks. Here she was, rooted to the earth. Her branches reaching toward the sky, the rings inside as dense as bone. She felt ancient as if she'd lived forever, but she was only nineteen years old. The rest of her life in front of her like a ribbon unfurling." (p 343)
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