“Did you know you could kill a person with a hatpin?” she said.“I did not,” he said. “Do you speak from experience? Have you murdered anybody? Not that I’d dream of criticizing.”

“Have you killed anyone?” she asked quickly.“What? Did you miss what I said, about turning murder intoan art form?”“But you haven’t actually killed anyone yet, have you? I readyour file.”He glowered. “Technically, yeah, all right, maybe I haven’t”

“The only language she could speak was grief. How could he not know that? Instead, she said, "I love you." She did. She loved him. But even that didn't feel like anything anymore.”

“She smiled at him. “How did you know just what I’d want to see?”“How could I not?” he said. “When I think of you, and you are not there, I see you in my mind’s eye always with a book in your hand.” He looked away from her as he said it, but not before she caught the slight flush on his cheekbones. He was so pale, he could never hide even the least blush, she thought — and was surprised how affectionate the thought was.”

“She looked at him in wonder. "Do people think of me like that? I only did what anybody could have done." "That's as it may be," he replied. "The fact is, that you did it.”

“So, she said. You met your brother.You know, said Fat Charlie, you could have warned me.I did warn you that he is a god.You didn't mention that he was a complete and utter pain in the arse, though.”