Bokelskere.no

"You hate him a lot?" Blackie asked.
Of course I don't hate him," T said. "There'd be no fun if I hated him." The last burning note illuminated his brooding face.
"All this hate and love," he said, "it's soft, it's hooey. There's only things, Blackie," and he looked round the room crowded with the unfamiliar shadows of half things, broken things, former things.