Wolves of the Calla (The Dark Tower, #5)

by Stephen King

‘If,’ Roland said. ‘An old teacher of mine used to call it the only word a thousand letters long.’

‘Ghosts always haunt the same house.’

It wasn’t fair to judge people (or even robots, maybe) by the way they smiled or talked, and yet everybody did it.

‘Jesus,’ Eddie said respectfully. If nothing else, you had to respect the ambition of such an idea. It was right up there with the peg-legged sea captain chasing the white whale. ‘But Pere . . . what if you did it and changed things for the worse?’

‘In his eulogy, Mark referred to Ben as his father. That touched me very, very deeply.’

Her ka-mates knew exactly what was going on in that head: I aim with my eye, shoot with my hand, kill with my heart.

‘Shut up ka,’ Oy said amiably. ‘Shut up moon. Shut up Ake. Shut up Oy.’

His eyes widened slightly as he saw the Pere walking into a great room filled with books and what Eddie called Magda-seens . . . although Roland was still unsure what Magda had seen, or why there should be so much written about it.

Roland scratched through the untidy storehouse of his recent memory (untidy, yes, but nothing was ever thrown away)

‘May it do ya fine, you stainless-steel bastard,’