On Thursday afternoon at twenty past one, Gitla’s heart stops beating. She takes a last deep breath, and that breath stays inside her, filling her breasts. There is no final exhalation, Asher thinks with mounting rage, no soul that slips out of the body. Quite the contrary, the body sucks the soul inside it, so that it can carry it into the grave. He has seen this so many times, but only now has he fully comprehended it. Just like that. There is no final exhalation. There is no soul.
