And life goes on, which seems kind of strange and cruel when you're watching someone die. But there's a joy and an abundance of everything, like information and laughter and summer weather and so many stories.

We don't even love each other. I do a bit, you know. You do what a bit? You know. Like you...whatever...love you a bit. I think I kind of love you too.

The next night he asked Jonah if he could take $9.49 out of Jonah's secret stash that only Danny and his mum and Jack knew about. Jonah kept it in his sock drawer next to a photograph of Jonah and a girl with sad eyes, taken in one of those railway station photo booths.

We look at each other for a moment and for once I feel awkward. It's not that I'm not into humility; I've just never had to practise it.

We spoke about our dreams and how we always felt safe in them, no matter how bad everthing else seemed. He told me it was one of the best days of his life and then he took out his gun. A .22 rifle. And he leaned forward and whispered, "Forgive me, Taylor Markham." Before I could ask how he knew my name and what I was to forgive him for he said, "Take care of my little girl." And then he told me to close my eyes. And I've been frightened to do just that ever since.

One of Sir Topher's rules was to never indulge in sentimentality, never return for what was left behind.

Someone had to be blamed. Someone had to die. (...) What you can't understand, you destroy.