How could you forgive the child who has killed his grandmother? How can he ever forgive himself? What a sad and beautiful book.
Anita was coming towards me again, gliding, her movements liquid. She poured herself into a shape of love and wrapped it around my tense body. My feet were cold, so cold they were dying and speech had deserted me. I remember thinking stupidly that I knew how to speak and how to move my limbs. I had done both for thirty-nine years. If I tried now... I put all my energies behind both actions, raised my hands to my eyes and cried. The wetness on my cheeks reassured me. At least sorrow could be managed.