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“Non,” said Gamache. “This isn’t the best solution, I agree, but it’s the only one I can think of right now. And we’re running out of time.” He looked out the window, where ice pellets were slapping against the panes. “Maybe Monsieur Godin’s right. Sometimes we have to do something stupid.” It did not seem to Isabelle Lacoste a great addition to the Sûreté motto. Service, integrity, justice, and, occasionally, stupidity.
Myrna understood how damaging it was to compare pain. To dismiss hurt just because it wasn’t the worst.
They were, Gamache recognized, the words of either an extremely well-balanced person who didn’t care what others thought. Or a psychopath. Who didn’t care what others thought.
