‘You went in there because his name was Saul?’ Gamache had asked, not mocking, but wanting to be clear. She’d nodded, not even feeling defensive or needing to explain or blame. He’d sat back in the seat, staring out the window at the still burning house, the efforts of the firefighters no longer to save it but to let it burn itself out. ‘May I give you a piece of advice?’ Again she’d nodded, eager to hear what he might say. ‘Let it go. You have your own life. Not Uncle Saul’s, not your parents’.’
