The Truth's Not Pretty Of Course. No

The Heart Was A Weak, Changeable Thing, Bent On Nothing But Love, And There Could Be No More Fatal Mistake Than To Make It Your Master. Reason Must Be In Charge. It Comforted You For The Heart's Foolishness, It Sang Mocking Songs About Love, Derided It As A Whim Of Nature, Transient As Flowers. So Why Did She Still Keep Following Her Heart?

Dustfinger Closed His Eyes And Listened. He Was Home Again.

Are You Really Going To Catch Us And Take Us Back To Esther? We Don’t Belong To Her, You Know.” Embarrassed, Victor Stared At His Shoes. “well, Children All Have To Belong To Somebody,” He Muttered. “do You Belong To Someone?” “that’s Different.” “because You’re A Grown-up?

The Tent In Which She First Met Him Had Smelled Of Blood, Of The Death She Did Not Understand, And Still She Had Thought Of It All As A Game. She Had Promised Him The World. His Flesh In The Flesh Of His Enemies. And Much Too Late Had She Realized What He Had Sown In Her. Love. Worst Of All Poisons.

They Wouldn't Tell Scipio How Much Of The Counterfeit Cash Was Left Since, As Riccio Put It, 'you're A Detective Now, After All.