from ann patchett’s ‘bel canto’
“there was nothing they could say to one another but roxanne was far beyond thinking that speaking the same language was the only way to communicate with people. besides, what was there to say, really? he knew her. she leaned against him, her arms around his neck, his hands flat against her back. sometimes she nodded or he rocked her back and forth. from the way he was breathing she thought he might be crying and she understood that, too. she cried herself, she cried for the relief that came in being with him in that dark room, the relief that came from loving someone and being loved.”
(page 307)
