EXCERPT ONE:
Henry Fitton, an earnest guy who only wore stiffly starched white shirts to the office and who-- perhaps for that reason alone-- had the reputation of being a religious type, raised his arm straight up in the air. He continued to talk excitedly into his phone and then suddenly stood and shouted toward the trading desk.

"Have a buyer of fifty Mad Dog!"

I slowly surveyed the room as this carnival of capital swirled around me. I never felt more of an outsider than when there was big action on the floor. It was as if every player snapped to attention, performing the finely choreographed role of actor or stagehand while I stood, uncertain of my lines or even how to get onstage to deliver them. I wasn't much use on an average day, but on a day like this I felt utterly worthless. Occasionally I glanced over at my would-be mentor and desk mate. I pretended not to notice, but he was in obvious distress. At last Doug Talley leaned forward and looked me in the eyes for the first time I could remember. Embarrassed, I briefly lowered my gaze, staring at the pasty white skin covered with snaky black hair on his calf as his pants leg pulled up above the top of his sock.

EXCERPT TWO:
Orr’s hair was blond, verging on brown, and perfectly cut. Catching a quick glimpse of his head from the side, I noticed he also had a cowlick. When the light of his lamp reflected true against his face, I could tell his skin was quite pale, but as he stepped slightly to one side, out of the direct light, his complexion suddenly darkened. His frame was narrow, but his face was distinguished by a strong, chiseled jaw that resonated strength, and he moved with the confidence of an athlete. They say you can see into a man’s soul by studying his face. But as I looked into his clear gray-blue eyes, which bulged a trifle too prominently, it occurred to me how little a man’s face actually gives away. I could have been staring into the eyes of a genius or a thief.

EXCERPT THREE:
Orr turned to face me for the first time since I had walked onto the terrace. He smiled benevolently and unconsciously touched the cowlick that stuck up on top of his head. Then he patted my shoulder and turned to walk inside, but he stopped as we heard a dog barking sharply on the street below.

“Dogs,” Luc said, and he paused. “They are the most dangerous of all creatures.” I looked at him questioningly.

“Yes,” he said. “Dangerous. If you have a dog, it is almost inevitable that, unless you are a monster, you will come to love it. Few things in this world are certain, but you can be almost sure that, because a dog’s life is so much shorter than a human’s, it will die before you do, and you will mourn.” He paused a moment before continuing.

“A piece of advice,” he said. “You may think that you love this girl, Dana, and she may love you or hurt you. But if you lose her, you will not grieve for her the way that you would grieve for a faithful dog who will never betray you. Long after you no longer dream about Dana, you will wake up one night crying because, for a moment, you felt as though your dog was nuzzled up against your back in bed.”

This was such an unexpected outpouring that there was little I could think of to say. I nodded, attempting to look wise, and thanked Luc for an unforgettable evening.