Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman (2)

Richard was not dead. He was sitting in the dark, on a ledge, on the side of a storm drain, wondering what to do, wondering how much further out of his league he could possible get. His life so far, he decided, had prepared him perfectly for a job in Securities, for shopping in the supermarket, for watching soccer on the television on the weekends, for turning up the thermostat if he got cold. It had magnificently failed to prepare him for a life as an un-person on the roofs and in the sewers of London, for a life the cold and the wet and the dark.

---

"He..." Richard bagan. "The marquis. Well, you know, to be honest, he seems a little bit dodgy to me."

Door stopped. The steps dead-ended in a rough brick wall. "Mm," she agreed. "He's a little bit dodgy in the same way that rats are a little bit covered in fur."

---

"Oh. The poor dear," said Islington. It shook its head sadly, obviously regretting the senseless loss of human life, the frailty of all mortals born to suffer and to die. "Still," said Mr. Croup chirpily. "Can't make an omelette without killing a few people."

---

"It's is of no matter now," said the angel. "Soon, all the rewards your revolting little minds can conceive of will be yours. When I have my throne."

"Jam tomorrow, eh?" said Richard.

"Don't like jam," said Mr Vandemar. "Makes me belch."

I love reference to "Alice in Wonderland" or "Though the Looking Glass".