She wasn’t about to let that get her down. She couldn’t let it get her down—that was what had happened to Momma. (1.2)
But it wasn’t her momma’s own face she saw, it was the photograph the police in Bridgeport had shown her for identification, that faraway face lying back against a white pillow, with the golden hair cut short all around it. (1.163)
"Some people, they’re always outsiders, wherever they are."
"So am I," Dicey told him, finally understanding what he was worrying about. (1.184-5)