Authors:

After my husband died, I felt like one of those spiraled shells washed upon the beach... Poke a straw through the twisting tunnel, around and around, and there is nothing there. No flesh. No life. Whatever lived there is dried up and gone.

Lynn Caine (1974). “Widow”
After my husband died, I felt like one of those spiraled shells washed upon the beach... Poke a straw through the twisting tunnel, around and around, and there is nothing there. No flesh. No life. Whatever lived there