Go In Peace, James Carstairs.

We Are Not Our Parents, Gabriel. We Do Not Have To Carry The Burden Of Their Choices Or Their Sins.

Jem Spoke With Enormous Care; Talking To Will About Anything Personal Was Like Trying Not To Startle Away A Wild Animal.

He Took Something Out Of His Jacket And Handed It To Her. It Was A Long Thin Dagger In A Leather Sheath. The Hilt Of The Dagger Was Set With A Single Red Stone Carved In The Shape Of A Rose. She Shook Her Head. "i Wouldn't Even Know How To Use That--" He Pressed It Into Her Hand, Curling Her Fingers Around It. "you'd Learn." He Dropped His Voice. "it's In Your Blood." She Drew Her Hand Back Slowly. "all Right." "i Could Give You A Thigh Sheath To Put That In," Isabelle Offered. "i've Got Tons." "certainly Not," Said Simon.

We Are But Dust And Shadows.

With His Customary Crooked Smile, “are Just Too Unlikely To Dwell Upon.