He wished he had some kind of X-ray vision for the human heart.
Grief, it seemed, was a physical place.
Norah watched him, serious and utterly absorbed in his task, overcome by the simple fact of his existence.
Short on money, long on hope
The Lake of Dreams grew gradually, over many years, elements and ideas accruing until they gained enough critical mass to become a novel.
She didn't love him and he didn't love her; she was like an addiction, and what they were doing had a darkness to it, a weight.