“I didn't know you were re­lated to Se­wall Boat House too,' she said.'Yeah. I come from a long line of wood and stone.”

“You don't know about falling off cliffs, Prep­pie,' she said. 'You never fell off one in your god­damn life.''Yeah,' I said, re­cov­er­ing the power of speech. 'When I met you.”

“What term do you employ when you speak of your progenitor?"I answered with the term I'd always wanted to employ."Sonovabitch.""To his face?" she asked."I never see his face.""He wears a mask?""In a way, yes. Of stone. Of absolute stone.”

“Now would you do me a favor?' From somewhere inside me came this devastating assault to make me cry. But I withstood. I would not cry. I would merely indicate to Jennifer - by the affirmative nodding of my head - that I would be happy to do her any favor whatsoever.'Would you please hold me very tight?' she asked.I put my hand on her forearm - Christ, so thin - and gave it a little squeeze.'No, Oliver,' she said, 'really hold me. Next to me.'I was very, very careful - of the tubes and things - as I got onto the bed with her and put my arms around her.'Thanks, Ollie.'Those were her last words.”

“Jenny, if you're so con­vinced I'm a loser, why did you bull­doze me into buy­ing you cof­fee?'She looked me straight in the eye and smiled.'I like your body,' she said.”

“Either way I don't come first, which for some stupid reason bothers hell out of me, having grown up with the notion that I always had to be number one. Family heritage, don't you know?”

“But what does he do to qualify as a sonovabitch?” Jenny asked.“Make me”, I replied.“Beg pardon?”“Make me”, I repeated.Her eyes widened like saucers. “You mean like incest?” she asked.“Don’t give me your family problems, Jen. I have enough of my own.”“Like what, Oliver?” she asked, “like just what is it he makes you do?”“The ‘right things’”, I said. “What’s wrong with the ‘right things’?” she asked, delighting in the apparent paradox.”