He closed his eyes, and my far hand gripped the bottle again, upside down, thumb extended to support my lifting it if it had to, as he recited: "I know the backs of her knees. I know the shape of her elbows. She used to eat tomatoes off the vine. She stole them in season and bit into them like apples. She climbed trees like us boys. She wore the same yellow bathing suit for years. A one-piece. She wouldn't give it up....Her father was in insurance, worked hard enough to get by, but he was a bohemian type at heart. Her mother was gorgeous, tall. Like her...She can draw, you know, pictures, and she sings. Have you heard that?"

Amy Grace Loyd, The Affairs of Others (233)