“ I think about the hurt that stories cannot ease, not with a thousand tellings. ”
To leave, after all, was not the same as being left.
~ Anita Shreve
And then she moved from shock to grief the way she might enter another room.
And she thought then how strange it was that disaster—the sort of disaster that drained the blood from your body and took the air out of your lungs and hit you again and again in the face—could be at times, such a thing of beauty.
Among other things, Kathryn knew, grief was physically exhausting.
