“She’d gone into the glass booth of the station to pay and the young man behind the counter was reading Anna Karenina and he turned the book over on the counter regretfully. She saw the big Russian saga drain out of his eyes as he took her in... she had watched as the gas attendant dragged himself from a cold night in Russia, full of passion and big fireplaces and lust. Back into the cold, lonely night of St. John’s to take Helen’s debit card, and she had felt motherly.”
