“I still hadn’t understood; how there’s a certain smell to a dispossessed soul, acrid, bitter as smoke, the irrefutable odour of an angry refugee, banging on the doors of strangers,” — Elisabeth Gifford Copy Share Image
“How strange it was to...watch her walk round the table and the chairs by the fire, pick up my shells from the shore along… — Elisabeth Gifford Copy Share Image
“I still hadn’t understood; how there’s a certain smell to a dispossessed soul, acrid, bitter as smoke, the irrefutable odour of an angry refugee,… — Elisabeth Gifford Copy Share Image
