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“When he told me about the diagnosis, he said he couldn’t really complain, considering all the luck he’d been born into. He was bound to come up short somewhere. That was his logic.”
“You sure you don’t want your job back?” “I’m positive. The boss can be a real tyrant.”
“Because his mood swings have been horrendous lately and I’ve finally figured out why. He’s much more tolerable—actually, pleasant—to work with when you’re around him, and he’s a fucking bear when you’re not.”
“Why don’t you just leave it here? There should be some room on the left side of my closet.” “Really?” “Yeah. You shouldn’t be living out of a suitcase when you’re in New York, anyway.” He regards me carefully. “Leave whatever you want. Toothbrush, razor... whatever.”
“I’m going to kill you and bury your body in the fields.” She laughs my threat off with that musical charm.
“You count on me to give you everything you need, because I can and I want to. I take care of you.” A little more softly, he adds, “And you take care of me. That’s how we will work. Okay?”
“There’s no such thing as too much lube.
“I’m going to give you the world, Abigail Mitchell.” You already have, I feel like saying. “I don’t need the world, Henry. I just need you.”
“He’s made it impossible for me to hate him. I hate him for that.”
