Alias Grace

by Margaret Atwood

When I close my eyes I can remember every detail of that house as clear as a picture—the verandah with the flowers, the windows and the white pillars, in the bright sunlight—and I could walk every room of it blindfolded, though at that moment I had no particular feeling about it and only wanted a drink of water. It is strange to reflect that of all the people in that house, I was the only one of them left alive in six months’ time.