“the noise of the traffic slowing for some hold-up ahead was drilling through her head, loud and aggressive-seeming; a child that suddenly ran after its mother on the pavement made her heart jump in her chest; the rain on her hair, on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, was somehow malevolent, as if deliberately targeting her, making her, ridiculously, want to cry.”
―
Jane Renshaw,
The Stepson