Lenore Dove

“She follows Wyatt to the van, leaving me to ponder the possibility that I’ve out-meaned Maysilee. Not something to be proud of. But neither is factoring Louella’s death into our odds. Her body’s not even cold, and he’s reduced her to a number. But she was not a number, she was a little girl I met on the day she was born when Mr. McCoy, his face alight with joy, held her up at the window for all us kids to see. A terrible, dark grief begins to well up inside me, threatening to drown me, but I force it back down. Swallow the sadness, clamp a lid on it, dam it up. They will not use my tears for their entertainment. The effort leaves me dizzy, so I sit against a pillar and watch the birds flitting around the rafters.”
― Suzanne Collins, Sunrise on the Reaping

“She isn’t crying, so Plutarch won’t get his tearful good-bye. Not from her and not from me. They will not use our tears for their entertainment.”
― Suzanne Collins, Sunrise on the Reaping