"She can't force us to go to the ball. We're grown men, for Lord's sake!" Will cocked an eyebrow at his younger brother. "You don't think she can force us? We are speaking of the same mother, correct? Small frame, enormous will?"

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In the presence of real tragedy you feel neither pain nor joy nor hatred, only a sense of enormous space and time suspended, the great doors open to black eternity, the rising across the terrible field of that last enormous, unanswerable question.

— Mervyn Peake