“You probably faked passing out the other day, just so you could be carried in my hot, sweaty, manly arms.”

“He’s quiet for a minute, then grins again. “I can’t believe you think I’m hot.” “Shut up.” “You probably faked passing out the other day, just so you could be carried in my hot, sweaty, manly arms.” “Shut up.” “I’ll bet you fantasize about me at night, right here in this bed.” “Shut up, Holder.” “You probably even…” I reach over and clamp my hand over his mouth. “You’re way hotter when you aren’t speaking.”

“But if the strength ain't real, I recall thinking the very last thing that day, before I finally passed out, then the weakness sure enough is. Weakness is true and real. I used to accuse the kid of faking his weakness. But faking proves the weakness is real. Or you wouldn't be so weak as to fake it. No, you can't ever fake being weak. You can only fake being strong. . .”

“The train braked. Five-minute stop. The man got off. All very ordinary, of course. But still. Flore came back, passed by me. She touched my arm, returned to her seat. I could have ripped my arm off. You don't need two arms. One good arm, fine, and the other one, the one she'd just touched, in formaldehyde. On the mantelpiece. In my big apartment. When she leaves me.”

“You gonna deal with Mr. Hot and Moody?""Not sure. I may just pull out my e-reader."He nodded. "Probably safer for your sanity.”

“I was more myself with you during those three days than I’ve ever been with anyone in my life. It’d be easier if I could be fake with you, but you bring out everything in me, little Ann. All of it.”