“He sat down with a dour face. “Ah, Shqipëria!” he said dropping his head. “Albania will never become Albania with Albanians in it!” He glanced at Jude. “Don’t ask.”

“It struck me that Albania was the sort of place that might keep a man from yawning.”

“Tully/Ysolde: "Brom?" I asked, releasing his head. He reeled backwards for a moment, his eyes huge. "Are you all right?"Brom: "I couldn't breathe," he said, giving my boobs a wary glance.”

“He said, “What’s in the wardrobe?” She glanced at him. “Books that don’t behave.” Misbehaving books? Not bothering to hide his skepticism, he said, “Uh-huh.”

“He was just hungry, Papa. He's going to die.He's going to die anyway.He's so scared, Papa.The man squatted and looked at him. I'm scared, he said. Do you understand? I'm scared.The boy didn't answer. He just sat there with his head down, sobbing.You're not the one who has to worry about everything.The boy said something but he couldn't understand him. What? He said.He looked up, his wet and grimy face. Yes I am, he said. I am the one.”

“Not me." He bent his head, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Never me.”