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A batch of the best highlights from what Carla's read, .
His laugh is huge, walloping.
My Name Is Lucy Barton
Elizabeth Strout
As she relays in her book, “Through the Eyes of Serial Killers: Interviews with Seven Murderers,”
Richard Cottingham
Jack Rosewood
He heard a nightbird singing. Out there. Out in one of the trees that stood around the pond. It was a noontime song, and presently it was joined by a second. For their kind, Matthew mused, night was not a time of sad longing, loneliness, and fear. For them the night was but a further opportunity to sing. And such a sweetness in it, to hear these notes trilled as the land slept, as the stars hummed in the immense velvet black. Such a sweetness, to realize that even at this darkest hour there was yet joy to be known.
Speaks the Nightbird
Robert R. McCammon
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