In Opening Them, He Discovered That He

There Are Always Loose Ends In Real Life.

Everything Had Shattered. The Fact That It Was All Still There — The Walls And The Chairs And The Children’s Pictures On The Walls — Meant Nothing. Every Atom Of It Had Been Blasted Apart And Reconstituted In An Instant, And Its Appearance Of Permanence And Solidity Was Laughable; It Would Dissolve At A Touch, For Everything Was Suddenly Tissue-thin And Friable.

Whatever House I'm In, I Hope She's Not In It.

Shut Your Mouth! You Dare Speak His Name With Your Unworthy Lips, You Dare Besmirch It With Your Half-blood's Tongue, You Dare —

I Just Wish I’d Asked You Sooner. We Could’ve Had Ages . . . Months . . . Years Maybe. . . .