Wolves? I should have known. Of course you have wolves. Doesn’t everybody?” She snapped her fingers. “The gun, Lucian. Hand it over. I’ve decided I have to shoot you after all. It’s the only way to preserve my sanity.
When speech is given to a soul holy and true, time, and its dome of ages, becomes as a mighty whispering-gallery, round which the imprisoned utterance runs, and reverberates forever.