“Even after she was gone, he passed her place each day: something white in a high window - not a face,but the white belly of a pigeon beating its wingsagainst the pane in the boarded-up house.”

“He picked her up and tossed her on the bed.They had a hell of a time.But afterward, after she had gone back to her own room, depression came to him and what had seemed like such a hell of a time became distasteful, even a little disgusting. It was the depression of surfeit, the tail of selfindulgence’s kit. You flew high, wide, and handsome, imposing on the breeze that might have wafted you along indefinitely; and then it was gone, and down, down, down you went.”

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he said softly, the words barely more than a whisper. “I can feel your blood humming under my hand. Are you frightened of me?”

“A story is never complete.”

“I would listen to her soft voice and wonder if, somewhere deep inside, she was screaming, too.”

“All we have to do is get out and vote, while it's still legal, and we will wash those crooked warmongers out of the White House.”

“I know what evil looks like under the surface. No matter how beautiful the exterior, how good the lies, I don’t fool myself, not any more. You carry a terrible burden that no one – not even me – can really understand. But that doesn’t change who you are, Frost. You’re a good person. And I love you.” “I wish…” My voice cracked. “I wish I could believe in that.” Luca brushed the dishevelled strands of hair away from my face again and looked into my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll keep saying it until you do.”