More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
He’d used a litany of tedious euphemisms—a race well run, time to answer the final summons, the long sleep—his
Laurel knew quite a bit about keeping secrets. She also knew that was where the real people were found, hiding behind their black spots.
Someone had made tea. Laurel would remember that detail through all the years to follow. Someone had made tea, but no one had drunk it. The cups sat untouched on tables around the room, one on the windowsill too. The hall clock ticked.
Because people who’d led dull and blameless lives did not give thanks for second chances.
she’d created of her war years a mythology from which her own daughter could never escape.
