I nod like I'm not at all unnerved by this new cold side to him. Not cruel like his father. Not warm like the husband who sought me out on quiet nights. Something in between. This Linden has never woven his fingers through mine, never chosen me from a line of weary Gathered girls, never said he loved me in a myriad of coloured lights. We are nothing to each other.

You can't be afraid. You can be sad if you like. You can be angry. But it's the fear that'll freeze you in place.

I don't dare touch her. Loss is a knowledge I'm sorry to have. Perhaps the only thing worse than experiencing it, is watching it replay anew in someone else--all the awful stages picking up like a chorus that has to be sung.

The thing about hope is that it doesn't go away even when it serves no purpose.

It taught that there are three versions of things: the one I see in my mind, and the one that carries onto the paper, and then what it ultimately becomes.

He says one word, nodding into the daylight. "Look." It's an astounding word. It's a gift.

What have you done? What have you given up?' So many things, Cecily. More than you know.