"Heartbroken." Curious and disbelieving in an equal timber was his mere repeating of the word she'd selected, and there was a fine, yet distinctive stitching of sympathy just underneath the hem of an inculpate dubiety. Studying her now underneath the sallow, emaciated light, seemed somehow to yield more abundant results about her unsolved mysteries. It was because he had decided to believe anything she'd said, or at least to go along with it. When he met new people there was never a reason to doubt them--in time, all people provide their own reasons to be doubted-and ah! If she were being untrue, all the merrier. Lying is an art he knows well. Lies were the true creativity of a defunct, steaming, rueful soul!
"A transient case. An unfortunate and temporary condition. Those with hearts to begin with, capable of being broken, never truly break entirely. People with real heart are stubborn. The state of the heart is very atomic. Atoms, atomos, meaning uncuttable. They're uncuttable. The state of being heartbroken, well, it's kind of a cardiac amnesia, until the next exciting thing makes you remember what it's like, makes you want to glue the pieces together. Try again."
The high, slant arch of his dark brow was a trick he'd learned from the devil in a dream and employed to bring his philosophy to conclusion. He'd also hired a devilish lambency to raise the curtains of his wily smile. Very faint blood-blue crescent moons were boated by his eyes, and he blinked repeatedly.
"But librarians, those are the true low-lives. My God, Jane. We can't possibly be acquaintances now." and in direct opposition to that, he'd said. "Let's take a walk and look for ghosts, then. Before I was a little scared to go it alone. They won't mess with a librarian, though. I'll feel much safer." he thrilled one initiatory step forward into another direction. Probably, toward stairs instead of an elevator.