“He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. "He's ill, Jacob."I say nothing. "He's a paragon schnitzophonic.""He's what?!""Paragon schnitzophonic," repeats Uncle Al. "You mean paranoid schizophrenic?""Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter...”

“Sometimes I feel sure he is as mad as a hatter and then, just as he is at his maddest, I find there is a method in his madness.”

“He sits next to me and puts his arm on the back of my chair, leaning close. I don't stare back -- I refuse to stare back.I stare back.”

“You," he says, laughing in spite of himself, "are mad as a hatter.”

“Yes. Da,' I corrected.'Say it again.''What?"'His voice grew husky as he repeated his request. 'Say yes—in Russian—again.'I blushed. 'Da,' I whispered. 'Will you teach me more Russian, Pietr?''Mmm, only the important words,' he promised.I bit back my request for the three most important words to me. 'What words would you teach me?''Pocelujte menyah.''What's that mean?'He groaned. 'Repeat it tonight and perhaps I will show you.”

“He leaned back in his chair. “Detective Gillian, what I want to say at this moment would no doubt be considered extremely inappropriate and unprofessional, even though it would be meant as a compliment to you.” Then he surprised me by laughing. “Screw it. You’re a devious, clever bitch, and I’m glad you work for me.”