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“The extraordinary hides behind the camouflage of the ordinary. Assume nothing, Maisie.”
Maurice had taught her that silencing the mind was a greater task than stilling the body, but it was in those still waters that truth could be mirrored.
“Allow the past to have a voice,” Maisie continued. “Then it will be stilled. It’s only then that your marriage will have a future, Mr. Davenham. And Mr. Davenham . . .” “Yes.” “Just in case you were considering such a move, your wife does not need medication, and she does not need a doctor. Your wife needs you. When she has you, Vincent will be allowed to rest in peace.”
“I’m not saying that you are not busy, Rowan,” Maurice broke their silence. “Not at all. And the cause is a worthy one. For women to have a place of account in this society, they must have a political voice.
But we both know that I’m not talking about marches. I’m talking about the safe place that we remain in, within the world we were born to. Swimming forever in the confines of our own pond. Socially, intellectually—”
“Maurice says that only when we have a respect for time will we have learned something of the art of living.”
coincidence could simply be what it appeared to be: two events connected to each other by the thoughts and experience of a person. But he also told Maisie to pay attention to coincidence. Coincidence was a messenger sent by truth.
“Shame, isn’t it? That we only like our heroes out in the street when they are looking their best and their uniforms are ‘spit and polished,’ and not when they’re showing us the wounds they suffered on our behalf.
