A SENTENCE BY JEFFREY EUGENIDES

September 24, 2011

On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide – it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese – the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it was possible to tie a rope.

An opening sentence to be respected, perhaps even awarded some sort of military decoration, say better than a Purple Heart and worse than a Medal of Honor.

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