“You have to admit he's good looking," Bree pressed, leaning against my kitchen counter. "Of course I admit it. I'm not blind," I said, busily opening cans.”

“To look at them, leaning against the counter in the tiny kitchen, is to understand the connection between farming, itself an act of blind faith, and religion. If you can believe in a year’s worth or corn or beans, it seems, you can believe in anything.”

“Why did you choose to save me?”“I could not let you die.” He placed the plate and glass on the kitchen counter.“But you have let goodness knows how many people die. Why me?”“You made me...” He leaned against the counter and looked at her. “You made me…feel.”

“Have you tried?" Tove countered, his eyes sparkling."Well...no," I admitted."Do it.""How?"He shrugged. "Figure it out.""You're really good at this training thing," I said with a sigh.”

“Oh, my god!" I said, throwing my hands over my eyes and hurtling my body against the counter."What?""You're naked.""I'm not naked.""I'm blind.""You're not blind. I'm wearing pants.""Oh." That was embarrassing.”

“I admit that I ain't no angel, I admit that I ain't no saint-- I'm selfish and I'm cruel and I'm blind. If I exorcise my devils, well my angels may leave too. When they leave they're so hard to find...”