“
Emmie.” He closed his eyes, suffering etched on his features. “I am a bastard, a killer. I cannot vouch for my composure the next time it rains. I couldn’t even sp-p-p—” He stopped abruptly, looking as if some horrible blasphemy had come hooting out of his mouth without his volition. “I could not even speak clearly,” he went on with great care, “until I was an adult. I am not elegant, I have no refinements, I prefer animals to people for the most part, and I will probably never be able to enjoy a summer rain. You cannot leave that child with me.” “I
”
”