Цитаты из книги Revenge

Mrs. J went into the abandoned post office at the foot of the hill. I had passed it from time to time when I was out for a walk, but I had no idea what it was being used for now or that it belonged to my landlady.

Her hair was standing on end.

“I think I’ll be going,” the old woman said. She stood up, <…>, and glanced out the window toward the square, as though looking one last time for the return of the bakery shop girl.
“I’ll wait a little longer,” I said.

I had no idea where to insert the knife, but I decided it would be best to begin by cutting off the five fingers. One by one, they rolled across the cutting board. That evening, my potato salad had bits of the pinkie and the index finger.

as I could see everything that went on in her apartment, she missed nothing that happened in mine. “A delivery truck brought it this afternoon,” she added.

For a long time, she stood there eating kiwis, one after another. She consumed them like a starving child, dizzy with hunger. Her carefully ironed blouse and her beautiful hands grew sticky. I could only watch and wait until she ate through her sadness.

I’m sure she’d be pleased. She gets so lonely.”

she stopped, like a wind-up toy

I searched my head for something to say that might comfort her. But nothing came to me.

she studied the menu from top to bottom, though she seemed to have little interest in selecting something to eat. This went on for a while. “Order whatever you like,” the man repeated several times, just to break the unbearable tension, but she was intent to make him stew in silence.
<…>
“Is there anything you don’t like to eat?” he asked.
“No,” we said at nearly the same time.
He ordered a great deal of food,

They barely greeted each other, exchanging little more than vague, meaningless grunts.

She had no friends to speak of, belonged to no clubs, and she ate her lunch in a corner by herself.

You could even say her silence suited her. The pale skin, the long, straight hair, the shadows under her eyes when she bowed her head—it all lent her a kind of tranquillity that I think we didn’t want to disturb.

“Four months in the hospital. I’ve been home alone all that time.”

I resisted the urge to press for details, or to ask why she had chosen me of all people to go with her. I worried that if she were forced to say more, she might shrink farther away and disappear altogether.

How old is he?”
“Six. He’ll always be six.

Her starched apron was slightly too large, which made her seem all the more small and vulnerable.

And in the middle of it stood the girl, her sadness perfectly at home in the tidy kitchen.

“Well,” she said, “then it was lucky you chose this bakery. There are no better pastries anywhere; your son will be pleased. And they include a whole box of birthday candles for free. They’re darling—red, blue, pink, yellow, some with flowers or butterflies, animals, anything you could want.”

“Is anybody here?” she called out. “Where could she have gone?” she added, <…>. “She must be out on an errand. I’m sure she’ll be right back.”