To be more precise it was the color of heartache.

It was an old fashioned house --the sort of house in fact, as Strange expressed it, which a lady in a novel might like to be persecuted in.

It is these black clothes," said Strange. "I am like a leftover piece of funeral, condemned to walk about the Town, frightening people into thinking of their own mortality.

How is a magician to exist without books? Let someone explain that to me. It is like asking a politician to achieve high office without the benefit of bribes or patronage.

To be more precise it was the color of heartache.

He hardly ever spoke of magic, and when he did it was like a history lesson and no one could bear to listen to him.

He smiles but rarely and watches other men to see when they laugh and then does the same.