The First Sentence Of A Book Is

Each Day She Removes A Small Portion Of The Unwanted Things In People's Lives, Though All Of It, She Thinks, Was Previously Wanted, Once Useful. She Feels The Sun Scorching The Back Of Her Neck. The Heat Is At Its Worst Now, The Rains Still A Few Months Away. The Task Satisfies Her. It Passes The Time.

Isolation Offered Its Own Form Of Companionship

On A Sticky August Evening Two Weeks Before Her Due Date, Ashima Ganguli Stands In The Kitchen Of A Central Square Apartment, Combining Rice Krispies And Planters Peanuts And Chopped Red Onion In Bowl.

And Yet He Had Loved Her. A Bookish Girl Heedless Of Her Beauty, Unconscious Of Her Effect. She'd Been Prepared To Live Her Life Alone But From The Moment He'd Known Her He'd Needed Her.

She Watched His Lips Forming The Words, At The Same Time She Heard Them Under Her Skin, Under Her Winter Coat, So Near And Full Of Warmth That She Felt Herself Go Hot.