"Mr. Ozmian," said Pendergast, in his quietest, smoothest voice, "we have bad news: your daughter is dead." The man looked as if he'd just been shot. He actually staggered and had to grip the side of a chair in order to keep himself upright. His face instantly drained of all color; his lips moved, but only an unintelligible whisper came out. He was like a dead man standing. He swayed again and D'Agosta took a step over to him, grasping his arm and shoulder. "Sir, let's sit down." The man nodded mutely and allowed himself to be steered into a chair. He felt as light as a feather in D'Agosta's grasp."