A Sad, Sad Ghost Picking at the Hairs of Their Knuckles

A Sad, Sad Ghost Picking at the Hairs of Their Knuckles

“It is in a house that one is alone. Not outside of it, but inside. In the park there are birds, cats. Maybe even a squirrel, a ferret. We are not alone in a park. But in the house, we are so alone that we are sometimes lost.”—Marguerite Duras