So, what should I call you before you die?” she asked over the sound of the rain. “Bull-headed Mule? Surly Bastard?“Mallor.”“The Mallor?”He didn’t answer.“You’re supposed to be dead!”He pulled the collar up on his long coat and stepped out into the driving rain. “Someday, I’ll get it right.

Murder doesn’t bother you much, does it?”“Not as much as your endless questions.

Don’t you just love children? If they’re not disappointing you, they’re dead.

Mallor reached into a pocket and tossed a pair of hazel eyeballs onto the table. They bounced softly and wobbled to a bloody stop next to the butcher's knife. "Go untie the man in my room, and see to it that he gets those back.

Sometimes the righteous path doesn’t take you where you need to go!