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[...] Why did he feel violated? He felt punched, robbed, raped. If a soldier was killed and mutilated in his own country, this man would not feel this kind of revulsion. He doesn't feel this way when he hears about trains colliding, or a family, in Missouri, drowning in their minivan in a December …

I wanted to know that I wouldn't die like a bug, I said.

Sorry, he said. These men died, were embalmed, and have been stolen. People sold them again and again. Their every effect, their bones, were traded for gold. You'll be no better off.

[...]

If these kings believed, why would they hide…

[...] The last horse I'd been on had bitten me constantly. This one just thrust his head rhythmically at the future.