Shrines of Gaiety

by Kate Atkinson

Frobisher had no small talk, he never had done. It meant that he was a much misunderstood man, presumed to be standoffish, arrogant even.

With each child she had produced, Nellie’s interest had waned, so that Ramsay and Kitty at the tail end were dreadfully neglected.

Life was for absorbing, not recording. And in the end, it was all just paper that someone would have to dispose of after you were gone. Perhaps, after all, one’s purpose in this world was to be forgotten, not remembered.

In truth, he knew nothing about her, only that she had a quiet magnificence that he both admired and feared and the idea of her leaving so soon gave him a hollow feeling in his chest.

He was not good at theatrics. Honest men rarely are.