Margaret Atwood

He doesn’t mind this, I thought. He doesn’t mind it at all. Maybe he even likes it. We are not each other’s, any more. Instead, I am his.

NIGHT FALLS. OR has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloudcover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it’s heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes. Wool blanket. I wish I could see in the dark, better than I do.

You can’t help what you feel, Moira said once, but you can help how you behave.

Household: that is what we are. The Commander is the head of the household. The house is what he holds. To have and to hold, till death do us part.

The hold of a ship. Hollow.

Moira, don’t.

I couldn’t stand the thought of her not being here, with me. For me.

Moira, don’t.

I couldn’t stand the thought of her not being here, with me. For me.

They’ve removed anything you could tie a rope to

. A return to traditional values. Waste not want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I want

Thinking can hurt your chances, and I intend to last.

It isn’t running away they’re afraid of.