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They already took her heart. I won’t let them take her eyes, too.”
“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” Addison said. “That’s Shakespeare.”
Enoch sighed and turned his head to watch Francesca go as she slipped past us. Then he caught me looking and immediately resumed his usual scowl.
One of the guards started patting down Enoch’s thighs. “Aww, no kiss first?” he said.
“I trust them about as far as I can throw them,” said Enoch. “Me too,” agreed Bronwyn. Enoch rolled his eyes. “You could throw them a long way.” “It’s true,” she said. “I have a trusting nature.”
Desperation could make good people do bad things . . . and morally ambivalent people do really bad things.
“Well, V was definitely an ymbryne,” Enoch said. “Always talking in riddles.”
I knew the hollows’ language as innately as I knew English, but for all this one reacted, I might as well have been speaking Yiddish.
“When you’re as old as I am, coffee’s practically the only thing keeping you alive.”
“Sorry, Noor.” Enoch thwacked the cleaver into a chopping block and wiped his hands on his apron. “I wouldn’t make too much of it, anyway. Most post-resurrection chatter is ninety-nine percent nonsense. Like dreams. No offense, Horace.” Horace turned his back on Enoch. “Offense taken!”
“Heroic isn’t the same thing as stupid,”
They sent forth men to battle, but no such men return. And home, to claim their welcome, come ashes in an urn.’”
Miss Hawksbill was flicking mud blobs from her dress and readjusting her sling when she looked up as if she’d just remembered something. “Does anyone need a pep talk before we go up and over? I’m not very good at them, but I’ll have a try if it would help . . .” Distantly, a man was screaming. “I’d like to hear your pep talk,” Bronwyn said.
Miss Hawksbill cleared her throat. “‘Death comes for us all,’” she began in a loud voice. Bronwyn grimaced. “Never mind, I think I’d prefer some quiet.”
We’re all riddled with holes, and there were days when I would’ve done anything to patch mine, if just for a while.
“For good or ill, in victory or death . . . soon enough, they will.”
“Just because no one remembers your name doesn’t mean your life wasn’t worth something.”
Tis better to have fought and lost, than never to have fought at all,’”
Better to burn out than to fade away,’”
“There can be no justice before victory,”
The hollows swarmed around us, thrilled to breathe open air again, angry because anger was their nature, hating me but ready to do anything I commanded.
We were not superheroes. We were not born fighters, but had been forced into the role. We were simply peculiar.
“Nothing is dead: men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand looking out of the window, sound and well, in some new and strange disguise.”
In the end, our real home had always been one another. And a real home was all I’d ever wanted.
