He wanted to explain more as they ate the peach pie. As his fork dipped into the mashed potatoes and minced meat,
He wanted to say that that bedroom was a prison and a refuge, and how he had never felt closer and further from his father than when he was reading to him.
How sometimes, when words and stories bring chuckles and smiles,
The body in the bed almost becomes its father. Other times, no matter how or what it reads, the body remains motionless. But as usual, words fail it.”
“Miss Delmont's flowing chatter terrified him, the way she threw words into the wind knowing where they would land. She would certainly assume that everyone had that ability. She hummed her words, laughed halfway through them, and then carried on as if nothing had happened. She deliberately placed obstacles in her way so that she could jump over them.