“Bellevue Hill. A sunny flat five floors up, in a building that looks eastward from the crest of a hill. Another marriage wrecked. Three times I’ve failed.
It’s very still. Voices, faint and far off. Someone’s hammering, someone’s using a saw. Someone plants his foot and an engine surges. The sea from my bedroom window, miles over there beyond Bondi, is a blue-grey line, ruled with authority. Leaves, way below me, move gently. Two white butterflies flit by, as fine and as tiny as scraps of tissue paper, but driven just the same to pair, copulate and die.”
Helen Garener, Tower Diary, The Feel of Steel