‘Why do you do it?’ she’d asked her mother one day. ‘Why do you keep telling us about that place? Would it not be better to forget it?’ ‘It would be better,’ Ester had agreed, ‘but it’s impossible. This way, I can parcel it up into almost-bearable snippets, and open them one at a time. If I tried to push it away, all the memories would rise up and swamp me. This is the only way to control them. Plus, of course, you need to know – you all need to know what mankind is capable of. You must be on your guard, always.’
