my grandmother asked me to tell you she’s sorry

Fredrik Backman2015, Washington Square Press

pp 103: The monster is getting tired of all the questions.
“Has Grief” he says in a low voice towards the wurse, rubbing his hands together although there is nothing left to rub in.
“Grief about what?” asks Elsa
The monster’s gaze is fixed on his palms
“Grief about your grandmother.”
Elsa looks at the wurse. The wurse looks at her with black, sad eyes. Later, when she thinks about it, Elsa assumes this is when she really, really starts liking it a lot. She looks at the monster again.
“Why did my granny send you a letter?”
He rubs his hands harder.
“Old friend,” he mutters from behind his mountain of black hair.
“What did it say?”
“Just said sorry. Just sorry…” he says, disappearing even deeper into his hair and beard.