Did you think it would mean nothing to feel your smile before it hits our face? Or know that it twists your heart to see certain run-down things around here? What it would mean to feel you crying, lonely, mad as a hornet, happy so big it feels like the sun is rising, all day every day until I look for it? Long for it? How could anyone feel that and not eventually get a little sweet on you is a mystery me.
— K. Ancrum, The Corruption of Hollis Brown















