A monster, I think, remembering what Ben told me once. War makes Monsters of Men.

Do we hate paradise so much we need to make sure it becomes a trash heap?

We sure as ruddy heck ain't in Prentisstown no more," I say to Manchee under my breath.

We just keep on having to save each other", he says. "We ever gonna be even?" "I hope not," I say

Like how stars might sound. Or moons But not mountains. Too floaty for mountains. It's a sound like one planet singing to another, high stretched and full of different voices starting at different notes and sloping down to other different notes but all weaving together in a rope of sound that's sad but not sad and slow but not slow and all singing one word. One word.

Francia don’t look too convinced. I never seen arms so crossed.

Viola? Keep calling for me– And I’ll keep searching for you– And I’ll find you– You bet yer life on it– I’ll find you– Keep calling for me, Viola– Cuz here I come.