“You need to be prepared to move.”“Why?” I sat up and looked out the windshield, straight into a raging sandstorm. “Oh…”

“Yes, indeed, I am the stuff, the prize property, the recaptured trophy he will put up on the mantelpiece, in a rage every time I move a millimeter or look less polished, less tarted up than he thinks I should look. In a rage, every time I disappoint him. Which will happen every day.”

“Kendrick has this look of deep concentration, then she sat up really quick and grinned. "Oh, my God... I know what your task is."..."You have to kiss her... like, in front of everyone. Total hard-core make-out session.”

“I am...sad and angry. Why is my spirit so sad and angry? I look back at my life and all I can remember is rage and rage and rage.”

“It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage...”

“I sat up straight and looked down at my pad, and then I realized: I'd been sketching you, really. I mean, I'd drawn the lamp, and the chaos on the desk, but I'd given it your soul. I'd given that lamp your optimism, your bright face looking down on all the havoc.”