Manhattan Beach

His sister’s transformation from aging tart to fussing nanny seemed almost instantaneous, like the flick of a kaleidoscope.

“You said the war was a joke. Boys poking each other with sticks.”
“The men who make the wars, yes. But the ones who fight, those beautiful kids . . . they’re innocents.”

“If wishing could make men die, there’d be nary a live one left.”

Her life was a war life; the war was her life.

He would die to stay alive, to savor the sensuous gallop of his thoughts toward some truth he hadn’t yet perceived.

Iron men in wooden boats.

He understood. Knowing another man’s trouble made it yours

His sudden revulsion for his wife felt dangerous—a poison that would remain inert only until she perceived it.

How to explain the workings of the shadow world in a way that would persuade them?

In four simple words, the man had managed to both establish a jocular familiarity and assure Dexter that he understood exactly who was in charge. A diplomat.