Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. E. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. "Then, the story of his death was false. ” 227 “Your family?” “She was my first wife, and because she turned me, she was like a mother to me. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly.
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