On the toilet, the rest of the line came back to her. The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
‘“Yeah,” Luna muttered bitterly, trying to not focus on the cuts she could already feel that were only going to get worse. “No shit.” Faulkner? Wordsworth? Yeats? Who wrote that? It seemed important to work out when the other option was looming Ares.
But she couldn’t stay in the bathroom for too long, and so she emerged back out to let him carry on with his horrible night.