But Quoyle didn't believe in strange genius. Feared that loss, the wretchedness of childhood, his own failure to love her enough had damaged Bunny.
"Why don't you just wait, Nephew. See how it goes. She starts school in September. Three months is a long time for a child. I agree with you that she's different, you might say she is a bit strange sometimes, but you know, we're all different though we may pretend otherwise. We're all strange inside. We learn how to disguise our differentness as we grow up. Bunny doesn't do that yet."
Quoyle exhaled, slid his hand over his chin. A feeling they weren't talking about Bunny at all. But who, then? The conversation burned off like fog in sunlight.
An excerpt from The Shipping News by Annie Proulx
Painting: Summer Evening, Lusty Glaze, Newquay, Cornwall
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