One mellows almost without realizing it's a compensation of age, because anger is exhausting. - Robert Galbraith

He was not a man who told himself comfortable lies.

There were friends all over London who would welcome his eagerly to their homes, who would throw open their guest rooms and their fridges, eager to condole and to help. The price of all of those comfortable beds and home-cooked meals, however, would be to sit at kitchen tables, once the clean-pajamaed children were in bed, and relive the filthy final battle with Charlotte, submitting to the outraged sympathy and pity of his friends' girlfriends and wives. To this he preferred grim solitude, a Pot Noodle and a sleeping bag.

In spite of her plainness that would have made wallflowers of other women, she radiated a great sense of self-importance.