″I keep thinking I have a tunnel in my chest. The path the bullet took, burrowing through the flesh and sinew and whatever muscle the bullet encountered.”
“He would never forget his first taste of English fog. A wet white wall that ate through clothes, flesh and senses, letting him loose in a limbo world to face the evil English Spirits. Were they evil though? ”
And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my helper.