Pendergast had fallen into a most uncharacteristic emotional state. But as the days and weeks went on, and the voices that sounded in his head grew still one by one, a single voice remain --- a voice, he knew, that was at the heart of his strange disquiet.
‘Can you love me the way I wish you to? The way I need you to?’
He knew from his Chongg Ran training that the thoughts you most try to banish are the ones that most persistently push themselves back in. The best way to not think of something is to possess it fully, and then cultivate indifference.
Her accent had a pleasing susurrus of Slavic overlain with an ugly Queens drawl.
“Isn’t he grieving?”
“Sure, in his own way. If his personal life is anything like his business life, seems to me his way of grieving would be to find the perp, whittle him alive, then make a bow tie out of his junk and hand him with it.”