In Chapter 2, Kathy describes the donation center for the readers' benefit, dwelling on the eerie, haunted feelings the building instills in all who enter. She utilizes imagery and a simile for this purpose:
Everything — the walls, the floor — has been done in gleaming white tiles, which the centre keeps so clean when you first go in it’s almost like entering a hall of mirrors. Of course, you don’t exactly see yourself reflected back loads of times, but you almost think you do. When you lift an arm, or when someone sits up in bed, you can feel this pale, shadowy movement all around you in the tiles.
In this passage, Kathy compares the "center" Ruth currently resides in to a "hall of mirrors." This simile emphasizes the way Kathy sees her own future reflected back at her in the people she cares for. As a person raised to donate organs, this too will happen to her some day. Ghostly, haunting imagery at the tail end of the passage compliments this simile, giving the impression that Kathy and Ruth are surrounded by the ghosts of their fellow donors—ghosts they will one day themselves become.
In the following passage from Chapter 11, Kathy narrates the sensations she experienced while having sex at the Cottages. Ishiguro employs sensory imagery in this scene to interesting and noteworthy effect:
When I remember sex at the Cottages, I think about doing it in freezing rooms in the pitch dark, usually under a ton of blankets. And the blankets often weren’t even blankets, but a really odd assortment — old curtains, even bits of carpet. Sometimes it got so cold you just had to pile anything you could over you, and if you were having sex at the bottom of it, it felt like a mountain of bedding was pounding at you, so that half the time you weren’t sure if you were doing it with the boy or all that stuff.
The sensations Kathy experiences during sex are not the pleasurable ones she might have expected, but rather coldness and claustrophobia. The rooms are dark and freezing, and the blankets that ensconce the lovers do nothing to generate a cozy, intimate atmosphere. At times, Kathy is unable to tell the difference between her lover and her bedding—both appear as objects to her, crushing her from above.
Utilizing this sensory imagery, Ishiguro introduces veiled commentary on the process of human growth and development. Kathy and her peers grew up sheltered from the world, engaging in imaginative play and escapism, romanticizing their futures. As Kathy matures and gains experience, such fantasies fall by the wayside—including any unrealistic notions about sex. The above passage from Chapter 11 de-romanticizes the sex act, pairing intimacy with discomfort. In full, the scene is one of many in Never Let Me Go that speaks to the themes of aging, fate, and societal disillusionment.