"...good," she says, and the word comes out as half a breathless laugh. She doesn't think that she's ever known Donald to be speechless over anything. She can be sure that he has a relevant quote or verse for virtually any place he finds himself. This is, apparently, the exception.

Grace reaches out for his hand, even though she can't quite make it to where they're gripping the bedsheet. She starts so ask if he'll place one on her hip instead, but the words come out as a moan that is altogether undistinguished.