“Miss Leefolt sigh, hang up the phone like she just don't know how her brain gone operate without Miss Hilly coming over to push the Think buttons.”

“Womens, they ain't like men. A woman ain't gone beat you with a stick. Miss Hilly wouldn't pull no pistol on me. Miss Leefolt wouldn't come burn my house down. No, white womens like to keep they hands clean. They got a shiny little set of tools they use, sharp as witches' fingernails, tidy and laid out neat, like the picks on a dentist tray. They gone take they time with em.”

“Don't mind her; she's missing that part in her brain that tells her to shut up.”

“When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.”

“How is it possible to miss a woman whom you kept at a distance, so that when she was gone you would not miss her?”

“When he bent down and swept her up in his arms and carried her to the divan, she did not protest. Shefumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, eager to touch his flesh and feel his heart beat against her hand.He moved over her and looked down at her with eyes dark with passion. “I have missed you,” he said.“God, how I have missed you.”“Show me,” she said, and sighed with happiness when he put his hand on her ankle and began to slide itup her leg.”