At least her last words to him had been words of love. But she wished she'd told him just how much she loved him. How much she had to thank him for, how many good things he had done. She hadn't told him nearly enough.

I'm afraid of plenty of things," he said. "I just do them anyway.

Living is too hard right now. Dying is easy. Let me die.

Great seas," he said. "What do you want?" He held the candle up to her face. "Po, what do you want?" "She did a far better job than I would've done.

Your eyes are beautiful," he said, and she felt warm suddenly, warm in the sun that dappled through the treetops and rested on them in patches.

At least her last words to him had been words of love. But she wished she'd told him just how much she loved him. How much she had to thank him for, how many good things he had done. She hadn't told him nearly enough.

He leaned heavily on the desk now, as if danger had strengthened him before and its lack now made him weak.