I'm old enough to believe that true emotion, like true charity, passes largely unperceived. Well, ackshully, I saw him one or two times maybe in the halls. Meanwhile, in the homes of the dead, there is a sorrow like a thousand gravities. It tears at the heart and chokes off the breath, and darkens the light of the sun. Mothers wail out the names of children they will never hold again.
Fathers sob uncontrollably, with the wrenching, clumsy, unpracticed grief of men.
Only slowly does the truth sink in. In the killer's home, too, there is grief, but it is mixed with shame, and also dread. Eyes burn with tears and sleeplessness. Nothing will ever be the same again. In the public square, though, grief becomes a carnival.