« But the one Jem had picked up and was staring at was a slim silver knife, its handle darkened by many years of burial in the dirt. She had never had it cleaned, for the stain of the blade was Will’s blood. Jem’s blade, Will’s blood, buried together at the roots of an oak tree, a sort of sympathetic magic Will had performed when he thought he had lost Jem forever. »

NOPE I’M NOT CRYING I SWEAR