“She never knows when it might strike. The rage. And when it does, she loses her grip on herself – literally. At times, she could swear she sees another self – shiny black phantom, faceless, as though clad in a bodysuit – leaping out of her, pulling the rest of her in its wake. Over the edge.”

“She never knows when it might strike. The rage. And when it does, she loses her grip on herself – literally. At times, she could swear she sees another self – shiny black phantom, faceless, as though clad in a bodysuit – leaping out of her, pulling the rest of her in its wake. Over the edge.”

— Ann-Marie MacDonald