“Travis considered the larger one below it. A file drawer. Was it even worth bothering with? What could have been in it but paper? What could be in it now but an inch-deep layer of mold dust?He opened it.It contained an inch-deep layer of mold dust.”

“A woman like Ally would have to be fought for, broken down, uncovered layer by reluctant layer. And he had the feeling that every layer would reveal something fascinating, unusual, worth the fight. Deep roots, as it were, instead of plastic artifice.”

“But the guilt goes even deeper than that. It, too, is dust: Layers and layers of it have accumulated. Because if it weren’t for me, Lena and Alex would never have been caught at all.I told on them.I was jealous.God forgive me, for I have sinned.”

“I was a masterpiece; a painting in itself. He was changing me, molding me, and making me into something brand new. I was a blank canvas when I came to him, ready to absorb all the paint he would slather on me. He kept going, adding layer upon layer, sometimes even shedding them just so I could turn out beautiful. And he was done now, ready to let me leave and display me on a wall for people to see.”

“The dust was deep and crisp and even.”

“My fingers positively itched to drift at length along their spines, to arrive at one whose lure I could not pass, to pluck it down, to inch it open, then to close my eyes and inhale the soul-sparking scent of old and literate dust.”