Quote:
It was an evening just like that, the Sunday evening when I came here to stay, after Anna had gone at last. Although it was autumn and not summer the dark-gold sunlight and the inky shadows, long and slender in the shaped of felled cypresses, were the same, and there was the same sense of everything drenched and jewelled and the same ultramarine glitter on the sea. I felt inexplicably lightened; it was as if the evening, in all the drench and drip of its fallacious pathos, had temporarily taken over from me the burden of grieving. Our home, or my home, as supposedly it was now, had still not been sold, I had not yet had the heart to put it on the market, but i could not have stayed there a moment longer. After Anna's death it went hollow, became a vast echo-chamber. There was somethig hostile in the air, too, the growling surliness of an old hound unable to understand where its beloved mistress had gone and resentful of the master who remains. Anna would allow no one to be told of her illness. People suspected something was up, but not until the final stages, that what was up, for her, was the game itself. Even Claire had been left to guess that her mother was dying. And now it was over, and something else had begun, for me, which was the delicate business of being the survivor. (p.109)