“At this, Constance sat down on a rock and covered her face. She seemed smaller than ever now - so small the harbor breeze might catch her up like a scrap of paper and carry her away, carry her into nowhere.”

“Turning her face away from him, she let the tears fall at last. They were carried away on the wind as if they'd never been. Much like her.”

“At a small table, sitting very upright, was one of the ugliest old ladies he had ever seen. It was an ugliness of distinction- it fascinated rather than repelled. She sat very upright. Round her neck was a collar of very large pearls which, improbable though it seemed, were real. Her hands were covered with rings. Her sable coat was pushed back on her shoulders. A very small and expensive black toque was hideously unbecoming to the yellow, toad-like face beneath it.”

“Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm.”

“She had been grief stricken as her father lay dying but now she felt weightless, the way people do when they're no longer sure they have a reason to be connected to this world. The slightest breeze could have carried her away, into the night sky, across the universe.”

“He sat across from her and took her small hands in his own. "Babe, you don't have to carry the world. I've got it, okay?”