“Somehow, this was one oddity too many. He could accept "Mind the Gap" and the Earl's Court, and even the strange library. But damn it, like all Londoners, he knew his Tube map, and this was going too far. "There isn't a British Museum Station," said Richard, firmly.”

“I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share.”

“The trouble with you, Vic," he said, "is that you think of the world as a sort of huge museum with too many visitors allowed in.”

“He's an angel. Isn't he supposed to love everyone, even the damned? Especially when said damned are his drinking buddies.”

“The next morning he boarded the train for the six-hour journey south that would bring him to the strange gothic spires and arches of St. Pancras Station. His mother gave him a small walnut cake that she had made for the journey and a thermos filled with tea; and Richard Mayhew went to London feeling like hell.”

“God damn it," Thomas said as he sat down at the table, carrying a tray so piled with food that it was a miracle he could even lift it. "Aren't we all just too good-looking for words.”