“An hour and forty-five minutes before Nazneen's life began-began as it would proceed for quite some time, that is to say uncertainly-her mother, Rupban, felt an iron fist squeeze her belly.”

“He stared out across the lake. And suddenly he felt the fire and iron of her presence, a moment before the water began to churn.Little One Kemir, I am hungry.”

“Finely dropped her head, squeezed her eyes shut and began silently to do what some might call praying, she called it begging.”

“The colors on the river faded, the rain began, and the river began to rise. It was apparent that the sun would soon give up the tremendous struggle it cost her to get to Paris for a few hours every day.”

“...and she felt the words come from some iron place within her that hadn't existed an hour ago. She didn't speak loudly, but there was such a change in her voice. Coming from that iron place, it was heavy and true; it wasn't persuasive, or desperate, or antagonistic. It just was.”

“Common sense...was one of the strongest ingredients of her character. She knew well enough that her fate was not to be an iota different from the fate of all mothers since the world began. her five would all go, somehow and somewhere, one by one. She would do what she coult to manage the goings, no doubt about that, but meanwhile their food must be prepared and their buttons sewed on to the best of her marked ability. And so they were.”