November was the transition month. A sort of purgatory. It was the cold damp breath between dying and death. Between fall and the dead of winter. - Louise Penny

They were cunning,deceitful,arrogant and nearly incomprehensible,especially the Anglos. They were dangerous because they hid their thoughts,hid their feelings behind a smiling face. Who could tell what was really going on in their heads? They said one thing and thought another. Who knew what rancid thing lived ,curled up,in the space between words and thoughts.

Happiness as an act of defiance. A revolutionary act.

The women in the room chatted about love, about childhood, about losing parents, about Mr. Spock, about good books they'd read.

They mothered each other.