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Dr. Lecter seems to expect Graham to do his part now. He seems to want them to work as equals, dine as equals, talk as equals.
Act as one.
His anger and grief at the loss of Margot's child seems genuine; but then, his anger and grief at anything always seems genuine, even if Graham knew that he had done it, as if he'd seen the surveillance records of God on the inside of his own eyelids.
Lecter's knives are mirrors, reflecting the wielder down their entire length.
They're in the kitchen. There are meat and vegetables laid out, Dr. Lecter's choice this time. Whatever the meat is, Graham is in so deep, it will be merely a small pebble on an ever-growing dune that, shifting in some vague future, may yet come down on him and overwhelm him with nightmares.
Dr. Lecter passes him the knife.
Act as one.
His anger and grief at the loss of Margot's child seems genuine; but then, his anger and grief at anything always seems genuine, even if Graham knew that he had done it, as if he'd seen the surveillance records of God on the inside of his own eyelids.
Lecter's knives are mirrors, reflecting the wielder down their entire length.
They're in the kitchen. There are meat and vegetables laid out, Dr. Lecter's choice this time. Whatever the meat is, Graham is in so deep, it will be merely a small pebble on an ever-growing dune that, shifting in some vague future, may yet come down on him and overwhelm him with nightmares.
Dr. Lecter passes him the knife.