Then the large black woman delicately cradled the little old white lady in her arms and everything about them was as different as two things seemingly could be. Rich – poor. Black – white. Large – small. Accomplished – forgotten. Except on the inside of each was a heart broken into so many jagged pieces. Pg. 275
Post 25: SG
Mrs. Barclay smiled as though she had been expecting the question and anticipating her answer. “I see so much of your father in you. I know I can trust you to get these things done. Besides, you’re my Monday night. And there is no Tuesday through Sunday.” Pg. 272
Post 24: SG
He looked up at the clock on the wall – 10:30. Time was creeping along. In fact, he imagined that if he was quick enough, he’d turn to find it not moving at all. Why didn’t it do this when she was around? His eyes were starting to burn. Twenty days would pass whether he blinked or not. Pg. 257
Gerred Lee 