"Their work, their memoirs." He grins. "Some of them have biographies. Some of our poor little crowd are even pinned down and dissected in textbooks."" He waves his fingers; a gesture somewhere between ooh, impressive and ooh, scary.

Unspoken, only because it's so obvious: if they have memoirs, if they have biographies, it's because they already lived on enough build such things. Obvious, so unsaid: from the perspective of Milliways, they aren't the only people of their acquaintance who are dead. Memento mori, and then some.