‘They had always fitted together like pieces of an unsolved (and perhaps unsolvable) puzzle – the smoke of her into the solidness of him, the solitariness of her into the gathering of him, the strangeness of her into the straightforwardness of him, the insouciance of her into the restraint of him. The quietness of her into the quietness of him.’

‘And then of course there were the other parts – the ones that wouldn’t fit.’

Arundhati Roy, ‘The Ministry of Utmost Happiness’

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