The blame generally has to fall somewhere, Miss Armstrong. Women and the Jews tend to be first in line, unfortunately. - Kate Atkinson

He was a baby once, she thought. New and perfect, cradled in his mother’s arms. The mysterious Sylvie. Now he was a feathery husk, ready to blow away. His eyes were half open, milky, like an old dog, and his mouth had grown beaky with the extremity of age, opening and closing, a fish out of water. Bertie could feel a continual tremor running through him, an electrical current, the faint buzz of life. Or death, perhaps. Energy was gathering around him, the air was static with it.

She felt as if she had been on the outside of happiness her whole life.

All that is necessary for the forces of evil to win in the world is for enough good women to do nothing.