"By now Ben was crying. Dad put his arm around him,but the boy was inconsolable. 'Yes, Scythe's must glean,' Faraday said. 'But we also must eat, sleep, and have simple conversation.' Citra grabbed his empty plate away from him. 'Well the meals done, so you can leave!'"
“'Very well.' And without waiting an instant longer, the scythe pressed the paddle to Kohl’s chest. Rowan’s vision went white, then dark. His entire body convulsed. He flew backwards out of his chair and hit the wall behind him. It might have been painless for Kohl, but not for Rowan. It hurt. It hurt more than anything—more pain than a person is supposed to feel—but then the microscopic painkilling nanites in his blood released their numbing opiates. The pain subsided as those opiates took effect, and when his vision cleared, he saw Kohl slumped in his chair and the scythe reaching over to close his sightless eyes. The gleaning was complete. Kohl Whitlock was dead..."
"'Why would we compete for something that neither of us wants?' Citra asked. 'Therein lies the paradox of the profession,' Faraday said. 'Those who wish to have the job should not have it . . . and those who would most refuse to kill are the only ones who should.' He put the ring away, and Rowan let out his breath, not even realizing he had been holding it. 'You are both made of the highest moral fiber.'"