he was afraid that the secrets she 'd kept would always be here , inside him , an ugly malignant thing lodged near enough to his heart to upset its rhythm , and though it could be removed , cut out , there would always be scars ; bits and pieces of it would remain in his blood , making it wrong somehow , so that if he accidentally sliced his skin open , his blood would-for one heartbeat-flow as black as india ink before it remembered that it should be red .