She couldn't help but grasp Philip Shaw's fingers that hung over the couch; the icy touch made her think of a sculpture. She couldn't imagine what it felt like to have a body as cold as Philip Shaw's.
She pulled the blanket on the couch over a bit and draped it over the man's shoulders, then sighed silently and sat on the couch, staring into space.
He wasn't a good father, nor was he a good lover, but she didn't want him to die just like that.
She didn't want him to die because of her.
She didn't want to bear the weight of his death, didn't want there to be someone in this world who died for her.
She thought of Hilary Candi, who died under Steven Balance's gun, thought of Philip Shaw, who was gradually growing cold and sluggish, it's not I who killed Boren, yet Boren died because of me.
Her palm felt cold, chilled by Philip Shaw's icy hand.
She took a breath of the chilling spring air, feeling her chest become cold due to the chill.
