“He could see tiny particles of dust drifting in the air between her ankles, each fleck tumbling individually in and out of the sunlight, and there was something intensely familiar in their arrangement.”

“the air would get so heavy with moisture he imagined he could feel each bloated molecule as it toppled into his lungs.”

“Between them was fifteen or so feet of frozen space, bounded by his window and hers, but it was as if the windows had liquefied, or else the air had, and his vision skewed and rippled and it was all he could do to put the Newport into gear and ease forward to let the next car in.”

“The air between them seemed to accumulate energy.”

“His thoughts skirted Sandy and especially Grace as if they were fatal chasms into which he might tumble.”

“He was failing at everything important. A room away his daughter was sitting with her face in her hands and he could not go to her.”

“It was wrong and impossible and illicit and yet each minute with the boy was a gift, a scene from a story he could not leave.”