He wished he had some kind of X-ray vision for the human heart.
There was something not quite right about her eagerness, an eerie kind of voyeurism in her need for bad news.
Each letter has a shape, she told them, one shape in the world and no other, and it is your responsibility to make it perfect.
Grief, it seemed, was a physical place.
Twin threads ran through her: fear and excitement.
...and the distance between them, millimeters only, the space of a breath, opened up and deepened, became a cavern at whose edge he stood.