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“We could be dead,” said Eli. “That’s a risk everyone takes by living.”
“I worked hard on those books,” he explained, steadying himself on the arm of the couch. “They’re poetry. And they’re a better suicide note than anything I’d be able to come up with right now.”
“You’re the hero…,” she said, finding his eyes, “… of your own story, anyway.”
Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human.
“A good friend, Mr. Turner, is very hard to find.”

