“I’m as forgiving as the wall you hit at two hundred kilometers an hour.”

“I know you have bad news,” I say softly. “I’m ready for it.”But that’s not true. One is never ready. You just lie and say you are and hope you can take the hit on the chin without going down.”

“Are you afraid of falling, baby?No, I’m afraid of landing.[He’s laughing, and I’m smiling.]Stupid idiot smile, don’t you know what comes next?”

“So I make no effort to hide my pain. I don’t ever put it all on display like this—but for today and all the rest of the days of the trial, I must. My every flinch, every flicker of pain, will bemagnified a hundred times over, then dissected by the pundits and talking heads. But I’m told it’s necessary; the world needs to see me vulnerable and wounded. I cannot appear not to care or to lack remorse, but that removes a crucial component of my self- defense mechanism and leaves me bleeding for all the world to see. I suppose that’s rather the point.”

“It’s always been him saving me . . . and I’m not used to that.”

“Possessiveness isn’t love. I’m not even sure it qualifies as an emotion.”

“I’m just staring at him, mouth half-open. As soon as I realize it, I find something to say, anything. “Who the hell are you?”“March,” he tells me.“That a name or an order?”