“Carter pulled out several lengths of brown twine, a small ebony cat statue, and a thick roll of paper. No, not paper. Papyrus. I remember Dad explaining how the Egyptians made it from a river plant because they never invented paper. The stuff was so thick and rough, it made me wonder if the poor Egyptians had had to use toilet papyrus. If so, no wonder they walked sideways.”

“There’s nothing here,” Carter said.“What do you want?” I asked. “We’ve got wax, some toilet papyrus, an ugly statue.”

“As with marathon runs and lengths of toilet paper, there had to be standards to measure up to.”

“Everything had felt so precarious since her mother's death, like she was walking on a bridge made of paper.”

“And then another letter had come from Christopher, so devastating that Amelia wondered how mere scratches of ink on paper could rip someone's soul to shreds. She had wondered how she could feel so much pain and still survive.”

“Everyone had taken their places, when I excused myself to visit the bathroom, and there, in the toilet, was the absolute biggest turd I have ever seen in my life - no toilet paper or anything, just this long and coiled specimen, as thick as a burrito.”