But he was still Vinnie, crying like a big baby, golden still, and still loving his honeybunny.

You are a orful naughty girl, he pouted reproachfully.

It tugged at my heartstrings with Steve's memories, as well as giving me so many Stony feels.

[…] and bold with joy, Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place (Portentous sight) the owlet, ATHEISM, Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, Drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close, And, hooting at the glorious sun in heaven, Cries out, “where is it?”