Nothing good has ever come from knowing someone else's business before they do.

I bet you were thrilled when the Lusitania went down. You probably drank a whole keg and danced til your legs gave out. Because I know you ain't a Methodist, Pa. Not really.

You can't grow tobacco in Nebraska."Cole kept a quiet smile. "Reckon we'll see."Harold scoffed. "Youre about to be disappointed, kid.""I think you mean Mr. Schubert is.

And his eyes weren't so gray; really were blue, after all. Really were quite bright and deep and brilliantly blue--like a summer sky or the ocean, she'd wager, though she had not seen the ocean. Had never seen anything, anything so blue as his eyes...

As a rule I don't fuck about with fellows who were in the Philippines.

Something unnamable fit between them and for now it was too delicate to put words to. Even if Lars spoke better English.

Mein Gott, Mrs. Windham. You may look like your Polish mother, but you have the icy heart of a fucking Viking.

Don't say much, do you?"Lars shrugged. "My English.""Yeah, your English, but you ain't much for talking regardless. I can tell."Lars offered a thin smile. "People can always tell.""What's that mean?""People say...much to me, because...eh...they know I do not stop them.

So Lars attended the funerals instead, hating the sickly discomfort of watching pain and feeling none of it. Of wanting to go but not wanting the door to close to loudly behind him.

You see, it doesn't matter what it takes to have something lovely and wild; it doesn't even matter that you've crushed it into something ordinary, so long as it's under your boot where it belongs...