— You have your mother's chin, Ms. Swan.
— We know that you killed him.
— And your father's tact.
— Not as hard as the other mystery you've presented me. Why haven't I killed him?
— If it makes you feel any better, it wasn't for lack of effort. Let's just say we bury the hatchet.
— Yes. But why not in your skull?
— What do you know of true love?
— Well, not so much as you, perhaps, but not so little as you might think.
— You? You loved someone?
— It was a brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness.
— What happened?
— She died. That's the thing about true love, dearie, it can slip through your fingers.