When the words would not come, the tears did. The mourning was supposed to be something dignified and stoic in my family, but I cried like a child, noisily, with running snot and choking sobs and I was not ashamed.
Nadim desperately tried to hide how fearful he was. He could control the tremor in his voice to a degree. He could consciously will his body movements to be less stilted. He could make himself smile somewhat even if it looked pasted on. But his perspiration was a law unto itself and in no time at all there were two darkly staining patches under each armpit.