Neverhome - Pg 229

   "Good night," my mother said to me when she had finished. She touched my arm and held it when she said this. Later it was more than one time I would look down at my arm and think I could see a mark she had left in touching me. Who is to say that's just folly? Who is to say what it is we have left on us after we have been touched? There is the world with its night-walking women and then there is what happens in it.