And so shall starve with feeding.
Groff writes terrific brainy evocative prose. Seems incapable of less than a shining sentence.
The cabdriver, his nose besponged by pores, looked at her for a long while in the rearview mirror and asked her if she was all right. When she didn't answer, he said soothingly, "You may cry here, cabbage. Cry as much as you wish. It is no hardship to watch a pretty woman cry."
Overwhelming, at times though, in how rich the outer and inner lives of her characters seem. Mathilde, for one: a super-sweet character:
She did mind something she never said out loud: she'd wished her husband was better at what he chose to do.
"And she can fuck herself lingeringly with a white-hot pitchfork. In her dark shit-star of an asshole," Mathilde said.
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