“At least Madame Selena had her own building…about sixteen inches from the edge of the highway, but still. And she had a turban. Say what you will, but it certainly added an air of mystery to her, like what, exactly, she was hiding under it.”

“If she ran, at least her body still had motion, even if her brain was mired under responsibility.”

“Even her beauty had sharp edges. Her long ebony hair was cut like a razor blade. Her face was strong and fine.But her eyes. A milky green, they betrayed an air of vulnerability she seemed desperate to hide.”

“All her life she had believed in something more, in the mystery that shape-shifted at the edge of her senses.”

“He opened his mouth. The words were there. He was about to say them when a jolt of terror went through him, the terror of someone who, wandering in a mist, pauses only to realise that they have stopped inches from the edge of a gaping abyss. The way she was looking at him - she could read what was in his eyes, he realised. It must have been written plainly there, like words on the page of a book. There had been no time, no chance, to hide it.“Will,” she whispered. “Say something, Will.”But there was nothing to say. There was only emptiness, as there had been before her. As there would always be.'I have lost everything', Will thought. 'Everything.”

“I know why you picked her," Frank says, still sitting on the grass. "She's like you, sort of. A writer. Unhappy. Wishing she had someone who understood her. That's what killed her- being lonely.”