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477 pages, Hardcover
First published July 22, 2008

And Murphy realized, with a sudden sharp shock of awareness, that his and Hannah’s were not the only lives that had been permanently damaged by Angelina’s murder. There had been a ripple effect from the tragedy. And his friends, like Dave, had lost more than Angelina. They’d lost Murphy, too.
He wanted Han—with a sharpness and desperate immediacy that no longer existed when he thought about his wife.
“You said you needed me. And maybe that was just part of the crazy talk, but…If you need me, bwee, I’m there. Whether it’s Sacramento or San Diego or…or…London or, shit, the tenth level of hell. I’m there. You know, you were the one who had the problem with us having sex, Murph. Not me. If it were up to me, we’d still both be using each other shamelessly. Twice a day. And three times on Sundays.”
...there was something about Irving Zanella’s quick smile. There was something, too, that gleamed in his dark eyes—amusement or intelligence or probably both—that made him good-looking. Charismatic. That was the word for him. He had crazy charisma.
“Hannah of the wolves,” she reminded him. “I don’t care,” he said. “Maybe we should write that into our wedding vows. Through richer and poorer, through three days without a shower…” Hannah just sat there, her heart in her throat.
Gillman would thank him--as a trio of pigs singing "Lean of Me" in perfect harmony flew past Izzy's apartment window.
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Why I picked that quote: It is, hopefully anyway...
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