Reading...

 They step  into a narrow entry.  Marie-Laure hears the gate clang shut, then the woman latching the door behind them.  Two dead-bolts, one chain.  They are lead to a room that smells of herbs and rising dough:  a kitchen.  Her father unbuttons her coat, helps her sit.  "We are very grateful, I understand how late it is," he is saying, and the old woman- Madame Manec-is brisk, efficient, evidently overcoming her initial amazement; she brushes off their thank-yous;  she scoots Marie-Laure's chair toward a tabletop.  A match is struck; water fills a pot; an icebox clicks open and shut.  There is a hum of gas and the tick-tick of heating metal.  In another moment, a warm towel is on Marie-Laure's face.  A jar of cool, sweet water in front of her.  Each sip a blessing."

All the Light We Cannot See

Anthony Doerr