“Closing the front door quietly behind her, Elinor took a moment to absorb the silence. Facing her, directly opposite the front door, where nobody could possibly miss it, was a portrait of her brother, Toby, in uniform. It had been painted, from photographs, several years after his death and was frankly not very good.”
“Another Sunday—so tired. Overcome. Riding on mid-shoot stamina fumes: etiolated blowback of all the emotions expended on her craft.”
