the last book I ever read (The Hours: A Novel by Michael Cunningham, excerpt six)

from The Hours: A Novel by Michael Cunningham:

A key turns in the front door. “It’s Julia,” Clarissa says.

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry. She’s seen men cry.”

It’s her goddamn daughter. Louis straightens his shoulders, steps sideways from under Clarissa’s arm. He continues looking out at the garden, trying to bring his face under control. He thinks about moss. He thinks about fountains. He is suddenly, genuinely interested in moss and fountains.