“The house felt strange. Altered. Like someone had come in during the day and shrunk all the furniture just a tiny bit.”
“...there remained a strange formality between them, and her pleasure in his presence felt too much like missing him had felt during the last week.”
“That was the day that my brother was in our house again. In a strange and inexplicable way, my brother had come home.”
“Her body was spattered with tiny bits of the reverend’s flesh and blood, like someone had combined shrimp and tomato soup and then forgot to put the lid on the blender.”
“Does it help?” he asks. “The e-mailing.”She nods. “A tiny bit. It’s strange. You’re writing a letter to someone who’s never going to read it, so it kind of frees you up a bit.”
“On good days I felt like a chrysalis from which a butterfly had emerged, and on bad days I felt like a chewing-gum wrapper someone had thrown in the hedges.”