That's how you have to read this book, you see. You wade through a few sentences, then stop and think about them, then wade through a few more.
I had met death before, in different forms--I knew quite well the pattern of my grieving. First came shock, and then tears, and then a bitter anger, followed by a softer grief that time would wear away.
Sometimes, the scales of justice find a level of their own, without our help... And sometimes, in seeking justice, we don't always serve it.
