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“What do I do now,” Gitanas asked Chip, “when the invader is a system and a culture, not an army?
As she ran up to her bedroom and put on her coat and gloves, she felt sorriest about her mother, because no matter how often and how bitterly Enid had complained to her, she’d never got it through her head that life in St. Jude had turned into such a nightmare; and how could you permit yourself to breathe, let alone laugh or sleep or eat well, if you were unable to imagine how hard another person’s life was?
When had it happened that his parents had become the children who went to bed early and called down for help from the top of the stairs? When had this happened?
