They’re absolutely wild. Sometimes they have an extra biscuit at tea.

No. I’ve just been pretending to use my left hand my entire life because I enjoy never being able to work scissors properly.

I scan the room. Catherine is writing quickly, her light brown hair falling over her face. She is left-handed, and because she writes in pencil her left arm is silver from wrist to elbow.

He was afraid of touching his own wrist. He never attempted to sleep on his left side, even in those dismal hours of the night when the insomniac longs for a third side after trying...