I går, bara några få timmar efter att vi sagt hejdå till katten, läste jag dessa rader i Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade. Tyckte det stämde så bra in och var en så passande skildring att den förtjänade en plats här:
He turned down St. Martin's Lane, feeling the blood thrum in his ears and fingers, with that half-shameful sense of pleasure in being alive that was sometimes the response to news of death, or the sight of it.
He could not yet think of her as dead. Perhaps he would not until he reached Helwater, and found himself amongst her family, walking through the places that had known her. He tried to envision her, but found that her face had faded from his memory, though he kept a strong sense of her form, lithe in brown habit, chestnut-haired and quick as a fox.
Alldeles särskilt fastnade jag för the places that had known her. De säger på något sätt allt om vad en frånvaro är.