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“She bent and placed a single daisy upon the grave. A simple white daisy. The plainest of flowers, perhaps the purest, Elspeth thought. It had cost next to nothing at all, and perhaps that was the point. She wasn’t being cheap. She was being symbolic. In her mind, Andrea deserved only the unstained purity of the simplest of daisies, a daisy that was unsoiled by a wealth that couldn’t find the money to have claimed her soul.”

“I do so much writing. But so much of it never goes anywhere, never sees any light of day. I suppose that's like gardening in the basement. I don't publish so much of what I write. I just seem to plow it back into the soil of what I write after it, rewriting and rewriting, thinking that somehow it gets better after the fifty-second-time around. I need to learn to abandon my writing. To let go of it. Dispose of it, like tissue.”

“There was something magical in his completely uninhibited amusement, something right in his utter abandon. It was a glow within him, as if he were translucent, at play with light itself. She somehow felt a peace with the world she had been missing before. She wondered if this was a glow Savio saw in his daughters. Antoníto stopped to look for her and sent up a big wave. This is joy, she thought.”