"She was afrad of him, now. Yes, she must be. Because not once, all through this, had she called him "son"." - Robert Bloch

"Yes, Norman, I suppose you're right. That's where I'd probably be. But I wouldn't be there alone." Norman slammed the door, locked it, and turned away. He wasn't quite sure, but as he ran up the cellar steps he thought he could still hear her chuckling gently in the dark.

"It's all right", he said, wondering at the same time why there were no better words, why there never are any better words to answer fear and grief and loneliness. "It's all right, believe me."

Forget the past, let the dead bury the dead. Things were working out fine, and that was the only thing he had to remember.