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Quote by Santosh Kalwar

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Santosh Kalwar

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“She told herself, finally, that she must face it or die . . . But this was just a whisper in the self, that flutter within which starts as a tiny plea and fights to grow in strength and resonance. So, she stood by it and fought for it, but not before her life and her love took the losses redemption almost always exacts from the redeemed.”

“It was a cooler morning than usual, but it was a welcomed difference. The many childhood summers she had spent on the French Riviera were now a simple memory, her younger adult years in the Caribbean now packed away into the past. The cooler New England temperatures helped to mitigate the heat of her present concerns.”

“Valdivia had to hold back the familiar mixture of sadness, rage, and revulsion to keep herself from shouting at the world in front of her. Of course, she had seen bad things before. But now, violence against women was a particular anguish, and the pursuit of their killers had become a personal mission.”

“Maybe everyone was being watched, and if they were, then an individual should be bold enough to live out the drama of their lives: to strut across the stage like the consummate player whose lines and actions are the upshot of an audience. Let them see what they would. She texted back: Just tell me where and when . . .”

“Jeffrey’s arrest a few years back—the dropped charges, the smuttiness of the coverage—ruined the whole enterprise, canceled the club. But he’d gotten off lightly, so they had moved on with life. She’d remained in southern Florida and made out on elderly targets for fun and some liquid cash. Newly minted retirees with more than a little savings love to feel as though they’ve met the right people, the kind of people who will help to establish them as the big shots they’d thought they had been in their heyday. It was an easy con: a simple promise of a private investment and suddenly there was a check.”

“Daily, she went over the story, ramming it through the turnstile in her mind, making sure she hadn’t missed anything major. She did not want to be caught off guard if she was ever questioned. She had to have thought of everything. And what of those things she could not anticipate? She’d simply answer, “I don’t know. I have no knowledge of that. Someone else might be able to tell you.”

“And when she at last came out, her eyes were dry. Her parents stared up from their silent breakfast at her. They both started to rise but she put a hand out, stopped them. ‘I can care for myself, please,’ and she set about getting some food. They watched her closely. In point of fact, she had never looked as well. She had entered her room as just an impossibly lovely girl. The woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, and an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering. She was eighteen. She was the most beautiful woman in a hundred years. She didn’t seem to care. ‘You’re all right?’ her mother asked. Buttercup sipped her cocoa. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You’re sure?’ her father wondered. ‘Yes,’ Buttercup replied. There was a very long pause. ‘But I must never love again.’ She never did.”