A street of light will screem, the black chariot of the Serpente will flayme, and a Queene wille sing… — Neil Gaiman

"But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things!"

"Like what?" said Adam suspiciously.

"Well ... you could bring all the whales back, to start with."

He put his head on one side. "An' that'd stop people killing them, would it?"

She hesitated. It would have been nice to say yes.

"An' if people do start killing 'em, what would you have me do about 'em?" said Adam. "No. I reckon I'm getting the hang of this now. Once I start messing around like that, there'd be no stoppin' it. Seems to me, the only sensible thing is for people to know if they kill a whale, they've got a dead whale."

"God does not play games with His loyal servants," said the Metatron, but in a worried tone of voice.

"Whooo-eee," said Crowley. "Where have you been?"

"I don't see what's so t'riffic about creating people as people and then gettin' upset 'cos they act like people," said Adam severely. "Anyway, if you stopped tellin' people it's all sorted out after they're dead, they might try sorting it all out while they're alive.