she looks at the books , their titles hazy with a thin film of sawdust , and she looks at the toy ships built for imaginary journeys along the red dotted lines of a child 's map , and she looks at the exotic pictures in the books still open flat before her , and she understands that these places are just places of the mind , and she wants to be able to exalt his wild dreams and imaginings along with her own-but there 's something about them that make them feel like the saddest thing she 's ever seen .