The stains could be seen only in the sunlight, so Ruth was never really aware of them until later, when she would stop at an outdoor cafe for a cup of coffee, and look down at her skirt and see the dark traces of spilled vodka or whiskey. The alcohol had the effect of making the black cloth blacker. This amused her; she had noted in her journal: 'booze affects material as it does people'.

but, he also said it because part of him wanted more of her, this cold woman who was not exactly cold, this rock who was not stone.

He had been my almost. My might-have-been. I was afraid of what I wanted most - His kiss. Still, I collected kiss stories. -Susie Salmon

At the tips of the feathers there is air and at their base: blood. I hold up bones; I wish like broken glass they could court light....still I try to place these pieces back together, to set them firm, to make murdered girls live again.

She no longer believed in talk. It never rescued anything.

Out loud I said I had two children. Silently I said three. I always felt like apologizing to her for that.

There was one thing my murderer didn't understand; he didn't understand how much a father could love his child.