“He supposed he’d never get used to it; the taste of a thousand – a million – who knew how many – scorched and vaporised bodies, and chemistry; from dust to dust, my father, O father; from dust to dust, an organic offering to the sun, to night, to all the other suns and their planets and their moons; this cocktail of dust that tasted and smelled like death. How could anyone ever get used to it?”