[For people like them, it's the sweetspot: a moment of truth, if not the foundation of all the other constructed lies struck. It's a moment of throat, not shown but glimpsed, open for the killing blow or showing those who know how to look where to aim for when it comes around again. Chinks in armor always do, in a long enough struggle.

Slevin does not push forward, but neither does he retreat.]

Then don't give me a reason to be, later. Answer me now: you saw yourself there, and you don't like it.

You're afraid it will follow you home, or that you didn't leave it far enough behind when you left yours.