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Loup was going through boxes of manuscripts, a dozen of them that had been on his desk for a month. He was now disposing of them rapidly. He would pick an even-numbered page and give it his full attention. One page could tell him everything. Sometimes the decision was made on a single line. It was …

One of the senior editors seemed interested in his progress, a man named Franklin Woolf, but everyone called him Loup. He was erudite and viciously funny. You want to be the last to leave the room when he’s in it, one of the other junior editors warned Cliff, though he was eager to learn and knew h…

And the boy said, talking with his mouth full like he always does, “That’s why you’re not supposed to have a crucifix in the bedroom. Is a cross the same as a crucifix?” he says.

I could see the meat with the ketchup on it in his mouth. “No,” I said. “A crucifix is a cross with the body on it.”
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“Deke used to be an art critic,” Darleen said.

He waved one hand dismissively. “Just for the prison newsletter.”

“Yeah, Deke attended prison for two years,” Darleen said.

“I began my thesis there,” Deke said. “ ‘Others: Do They Exist?’ But I never completed it. I was a couple of hundred pa…

“This ain’t much of an establishment if you pardon my saying so,” he said to Angela. “No steaks in the freezer, no ice cream, sound system inadequate, music fit only to disinform the listener, no point in hearing it twice, towels thin, washcloths worn and most suspect, bed lumpy, poor recycling pra…