"We’ve got to get these guys to Bubba’s. Anyone got a clue how to do it? (Nick) They gotta be breathing? (Simi) Yes. (Nick and Caleb) Well, pooh. That just takes all the fun out of it. (Simi)"

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Art, its completeness, its formedness, its finishedness, had no power to console. Words on the other hand, were a lifeline. They left their hushed rhythm behind, a counter to the slow in and out of Emmeline's breathing.

— Diane Setterfield