Stella isn’t allowed in the basement. But she’s there, hiding from the quarrels above and whispering secrets to a beautiful mother in a painting. Thirty years later she still doesn’t know who that mother and her baby are. Nor can she remember what she did last night. Woken by her young... read more
“She is so small, small for her age. Although he is only five and she is six, Sammy has overtaken her. He is already long and thin, and she is a speck of dust hiding in the folds of green velvet curtains.”
“She’d been there with Ross, listening to the radio in the dark. He made a virtue of being bright and cheerful in the morning, even after five hours sleep. He talked as if there was some deficiency in her because she always felt like death. She hated him for it, for leaping out of bed singing while she tried to bury herself in sleep. She hated him for insisting she came too and learned how to ski, as if it would make her a better person. It would have been different if he’d taken her somewhere exotic like Switzerland or Colorado. Then, while he whizzed down mountains she could have tested out the Après Ski. Mulled wine, Glüven, hot toddies.”
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