“He knew at once it was a human bone, when he took it from the baby who was sitting on the floor chewing it.” — Arnaldur Indridason Copy Share Image
“He went into the kitchen. It was eight in the evening. He tried to shut the bright spring evening out with the curtains, but it forced its way past them in places, dust-filled sunbeams that lit up the gloom in his flat. Spring and summer were not Erlendur's seasons. Too bright. Too frivolous. He wanted heavy, dark winters. Finding nothing… — Arnaldur Indridason Copy Share
“He knew at once it was a human bone, when he took it from the baby who was sitting on the floor chewing it.” — Arnaldur Indridason Copy Share Image
