In that tremendous flash of freedom, on my way to do The Thing for the first time, sanctioned by Almighty Harry, I receded, faded back into the scenery of my own dark self, whole the other me crouched and growled. I would do It at last, do what I had been created to do. And I did.

I think that's nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for Deb.

What to wear? I could think of no guidelines on what we were wearing this season to a party forced on you to celebrate an unwanted engagement that might turn into a violent confrontation with a vengeful maniac. Clearly brown shoes were out, but beyond that nothing really seemed de rigueur.

I waved to everybody. Some of them even waved back. They knew me, had seen me go by before, always cheerful, a big hello for everybody. He was such a nice man. Very friendly. I can’t believe he did those horrible things . . .

But of course, there's no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am; as I said, no rest for the wicked.

I'm quite sure more people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact. I just fake all of it." --Dexter

But what could I do? Be stupid for a while? I wasn't sure I knew how, even after so many years of careful observation.