All that summer, as no white people came to rent the empty, upstairs suites of the Valenti house or the Golden house, tension had mounted in the street. Only Negroes came. (first lines)
Many of the passengers could not help staring at Anna Teller. It was mid-December of 1956; all the newspapers they had brought onboard were still headlining one story, and here was part of the story in the flesh.
Anna Teller was the only refugee on the plane from Munich to New York.
The first spring after the death is unbearable. Its inexorable, complete awakening. Its compulsive memories. Its intolerable mockery of beauty.