“So. You're a fallen angel." She folded her arms."I'm not fallen," he said roughly."Then what are you?"He shrugged. "Busted.”

“I think you look like the spawn of Satan.""Yeah, and you still look like my brother's favorite blow-up doll.""Speaking of, what's the deal with the size of my breasts in last month's manual?" He'd drawn me so top heavy a stiff wind could have knocked me off balance."Creative license," he said with a shrug."A little too creative.”

“Charis sipped, smiling back. "...I saw God everywhere."Grif narrowed his eyes. "Really?"She nodded and leaned close. "We were actually pen pals. I'd write Him letters in Latin and leave them in my closet.""Why the closet?"She shrugged. "Because He didn't appear after I set my front yard's bushes on fire, so I decided He was shy.”

“...Death," she said, as her hand dropped away, " is how you know you were alive in the first place.”

“She needed facts. Facts were bricks. Maybe she could build herself a wall with them, too, one tall and wide and strong enough to keep her alive when he was gone.”

“...you've been rooked. You know,you got the dust off. Killed. Murdered. Clipped. It's a rough deal, but you've had some good times, right?”

“Why the hell was she smiling like that?...Her mouth was blown so wide that the soft insides showed at the corners, like another grin was building in there. As if her laughter tumbled. Like joy was a living thing.”