“It is the way of the world, I suppose,” Harry said, smiling a faded smile. “The good move on, and the wicked remain.” I envied the kind of girl who could walk over and wrap her arms around him, but I wasn’t that. I perched at the marble kitchen island, my chin in my hands, and watched him instead. “The wicked is making me eggs,” I observed. “I don’t have any complaints.”
