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He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"It is not about attention," the old man said. "It is about capacity. You ask me, what is Dostoevsky's best book? The critics, they will argue for Crime . The romantics, they choose The Idiot . But for the broken? For those who have lost faith in the world and in themselves?" dostoievski mejor libro

Elena ran her fingers along the spine of a leather-bound volume. She was not looking for a book; she was looking for an alibi. A reason to stay away from her empty apartment, where the silence of her recent divorce still echoed. He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper