“Grief isn’t weakness,” I said quietly. “It’s a sign of love. It’s love that endures—” “And what of the love that is murdered before your eyes?” he demanded with sudden fire. “What is love when it screams your name on bloodstained lips, calling for help that you cannot give? Tell me that isn’t weakness, Lucy Dennings. The ultimate weakness. To be unable to save them. I couldn’t save them…” He shook his head with finality, his voice hard again. “Grief is not love. Grief is penance for living after love has died.”
