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“Well," said Robin at last, "again, in future, maybe we could try the talking thing, before you die of a stress-induced heart attack or, you know end up killing someone we need to question?" Strike grinned ruefully. "Yeah. We could try that, I s'pose . . . " Silence closed around them again, a silence that seemed to the slightly drunk Strike to thicken like honey, comforting and sweet, but slightly dangerous if you sank too far into it. Full of whisky, contrition and a powerful feeling he preferred at all times not to dwell upon, he wanted to make some kind of statement about Robin's kindness and tact, but all the words that occurred to him seemed clumsy and unserviceable: he wanted to express something of the truth, but the truth was dangerous.” — Robert Galbraith