So I'm in bed reading "The Disciple" by Stephen Coonts, and I get to page 432 and read the following paragraph that I had to share:
Somehow that conversation had gotten away from me. I was going to tell her she would get well and someday this experience would be only an ugly memory, but even I didn't believe that crock of Pelosi, and I certainly didn't have the guts to say it aloud.