“‘If I was murdered here, the news would never leave the estate.’ Rani is uncertain whether or not she has spoken aloud. Her thoughts, loosened by solitude, often burst these days through her unconscious lips; and often contradict one another, because the very next notion to form in her mind as she sits on the heavy-eaved verandah is this: ‘I love the house.’”

— Salman Rushdie, Shame (via hours)