"I already knew I had been sent here," Senty continued. "I knew it in the way you can know something without having the picture. Now I'm beginning to get pictures."

Senty folded the towel once. The first fold went wrong. He opened it and tried again. “I haven’t played it in front of the room.” “That’s okay, my beautiful bear. I haven’t sung in front of it.” The old otter adjusted his waistcoat by a fraction. “Might be a good night for both of us to be scared.”

“Pumpkin ice cream can go wrong in several very enthusiastic directions. Too much cinnamon and you’re eating a candle. Too much nutmeg and Thanksgiving has become punitive. Too sweet and the pumpkin disappears completely. I like pumpkin. I would prefer it attended its own event.”

"You're not interrupting," the bear said. Gary had not said anything about interrupting. He had not said anything at all.

"His great-aunt had never measured. She had whispered: a palmful of this, a memory of that, cumin until it apologizes. Brad moved through the stations with the certainty of crossing his childhood home in darkness..."

"Senty stood there with the towel in his paws. Then he folded it. Set it down. Untied his apron. For some reason, taking off the apron made the room more serious than if he had picked up a sword."

The bell drew Senty through the pass, drying his paws on a towel. His attention crossed the chalkboard and the chaise, then slowed at the scarf, the popcorn, and finally the embroidered napkin. The towel stopped moving between his paws. "Marty," he said. "Hello again, friend."