So what are you going to tell her? A little help? I pleaded. What does she want to know? He shook his head, grinning wickedly. That’s not fair. No, you not sharing what you know-now that’s not fair.
My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?
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.
