“And then there’s its hair,” Justin said, pushing the vegetables across to me. “Don’t forget the hair. It’s horrible.”“It’s wearing a dead person’s hair,” Rafe informed me. “If you stick a pin in the doll, you can hear screaming coming from the graveyard. Try it.”“See what I mean?” Abby said, to me. “Wusses. It’s got real hair. Why he thinks it’s from a dead person—”“Because your poppet was made in about 1890 and I can do subtraction.”

“You can still be cool when you’re dead. In fact, it’s much easier, because you aren’t getting old and fat and losing your hair.”

“You’re perfect,’ he says almost fiercely. ‘You don’t need to change one hair. One freckle. One little toe.And if it’s me that’s made you feel you should do this … then there’s something wrong with me.”

“We used to talk about death, she said. We don’t anymore. Why is that?I don’t know.It’s because it’s here. There’s nothing left to talk about.I wouldn’t leave you.I don’t care. It’s meaningless. You can think of me as a faithless slut if you like. I’ve taken a new lover. He can give me what you cannot.Death is not a lover.O yes he is.Please don’t do this.I’m sorry.I can’t do it alone.”

“Your cat just got cat hair on me.” “It’s only fair,” Min said. “Your suit just got expensive suit lint on him.”

“I pulled away. He stopped me with a hand on my wrist. “Wait,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking.”“What?”“It’s written all over your face.” He pushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”