I haven't quite finished it yet, but A Question of Love turned out to be fudging/pulling its punches on the grief stuff, and to have some very odd misogynies scattered through it. Alas.
A people without history / Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern / Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/ On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/ History is now and England.
T. S. Eliot, 'Little Gidding'.
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