Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp — Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
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Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp them until the blood flows.

— Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
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