When they had hurried to the train station with their violin cases, they had drawn almost as many stares as they would on any normal day when their hair was to their knees and sheeting...

It was sadness, lostness, and the worst thing about it was the way it seemed like a default—like it was there all the time, and all her other expressions were just an array of masks...

You really think joy is easier to come by than pain? What have you had more of?

And Esme remembered in a rush–the wolfsong, the haunting, lyrical spirals of it in the dawn quiet and the feeling of euphoria that had attended it. Even in recollection the howling uplifted her like the...

That day and night, the bleeding and the screaming, had knocked something askew for Esme, like a picture swinging crooked on a wall. She loved the life she lived with her mother. It was beautiful....

It was the only lullaby she would ever sing, and it was sung in Hell.

Allí, junto a Akiva, incluso mientras hablaban de guerra, ciudades sitiadas y enemistad duradera, se sentía atraída hacia su inmensidad y calidez, como si fuera al mismo tiempo lugar y persona, y, contra cualquier lógica,...