“ ...the man to love rarely coincides with the hour of loving. ”
God's creatures who cried themselves to sleep stirred to cry again.
~ Thomas Harris
You know how cats do. They hide to die. Dogs come home.
In her way, she was a hard one. Faith in any sort of natural justice was nothing but a night light; she knew of that. Whatever she did, she would end the same way with everyone does: flat on her back with a tube in her nose, wondering, Is this all?
You must understand that when you are writing a novel you are not making anything up. It's all there and you just have to find it.
