Alex decided he’d had enough. He put down his knife. “All right,” he said. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t want to work with me. Well, that’s fine. Because I don’t want to work with you either. And for what it’s worth, nobody would ever believe you were my mom because no mom would ever behave like you.” “Alex…,” Carver began. “Forget it! I’m going back to London. And if you’re Mr. Byrne asks why, you can tell him I didn’t like the jelly, so I went home to get some jam.

Was it fate? Was it destiny?" "I think it was Alan Blunt.

Until he lost all his money, my father was a successful north London Jewish businessman. He was unusual among his immediate family in that he was enormously cultured and had an incredible library.

We have an hour before we have to leave," Cray said. "So I thought I might tell you a little about myself. I thought it might pass the time." "I'm not really all that interested," Alex said.

I'm not very good at creating worlds. I prefer to write about the world as it is.

Freedom of speech is a fundamental human right.

The CIA agent looked more dead than alive. Alex wondered if he had been hit, but there was no sign of any blood. Perhaps he was in shock.