“And just as this illness changed his life, and hers, and Claudette’s and their house on rue de l’Agneau, so it changed that old, cracked globe. It felt different in her hands – smaller. She’d hold it like an egg that could break under her touch. Because now Jeanne’s mind could not be on future of foreign countries, it had to be on the cutting up of food, the emptying of chamber pots. Her life moved around her father, and loving him more closely – and how could she resent this?”