Shame hides things just as thoroughly as guilt does.

The suitcase could not tell me which one I was looking at.

Only the flour could do that, and I had not yet been brave, or foolish, enough to taste it.

Chapter 8 — The Suitcase

I knelt there on the rug, in the sunlight, and I unzipped the main compartment of the suitcase, and I think some small hopeful part of me was still expecting to find sweaters.

I did not find sweaters.