It was a strange combination to absorb – the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London.
I miss you when you’re not there. When you’re happy, it makes me happy. But I could say the same thing about Charlie, Jacob. You’re family. I love you, but I’m not in love with you.
He was giving up on keeping me alive, letting nature–or rather mob justice–take its course. When he returned, and I was dead, he wouldn’t hold anyone responsible. He would not mourn. All this I could hear in those three words.
