Julia

by Sandra Newman

Guilt was a catching sickness.

And it never hurt to have a little damning information on people, in case of need. It was one of the ways one avoided being turned in to the police oneself.

An informer’s life was precarious: the careless ones got denounced in turn, as their work bred so much hatred.

It struck Julia that luxury was as much the absence of things as their abundance.

It really is the only thing—poetry. One feels that something has visited the world that isn’t of this world.”