Bloor Line, eastbound, concealing the cover
Caucasian woman, mid 50s, with trim grey hair, wearing black-rimmed glasses, grey shirt, black slacks, and sensible shoes.
Straight into Darkness, Faye Kellerman (Vision)
Page 199:
Ten beds on each side, all of them were occupied. Above the headboards hung wooden crucifixes; nuns in black habits and nurses in starched white uniforms scurried about—a life-size chessboard. As the grogginess lifted from his brain, he became aware of sounds . . . moans . . . groans . . . the soft sighs of weeping. Whispers crackled through the air like radio static.
She doesn’t wish he was dead, but when she bumps into him in the street it’s hard to accept that he still walks among the earth. She thought he was gone. And he stands in front of her, waves without speaking, as if he, too, can’t bring himself to say hello, that the sight of his mouth forming salutation would look, from a distance, as if he’s attempting to converse with an empty void. Such is the first encounter between ex lovers.
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