“He insisted on taking her home, even though she protested that he could easily miss the very last subway back. Once more, they did not speak, but as he walked her from the subway station through the dark cold empty streets to Mrs. Kehoe’s, she felt that she was being held by someone wounded, that the letter had somehow, in its tone, made clear to him what had really happened and made plain to him also that she belonged somewhere else, a place that he could never know. She thought that he was going to cry; she felt almost guilty that she had handed some of her grief to him, and then she felt close to him for his willingness to take it and hold it, in all its rawness, all its dark confusion. She was almost more upset now than she had been when she had ventured out in search of him.”

Colm Tóibín, Brooklyn (Page 192) | Read Matt’s Blog on this quote ➜