It may not be enviable, but my pain is mine.
That’s what friends are for, not to be done without.
Perhaps that’s what Hell is, a long term in earth-bound bondage. Perhaps we suffer our hells in living….
Ah, but I gave you a good fight, my Meggie! Yet in the end it isn’t your fragments I must glue together, but the dismembered chunks of myself.
Not that she was a saint, or indeed anything more than most. Only that she never complained, that she had the gift—or was it the curse?—of acceptance. No matter what had gone or what might come, she confronted it and accepted it, stored it away to fuel the furnace of her being.
But words of love mean nothing. I could have screamed them at you a thousand times a day without affecting your doubts in the slightest.
So I haven’t spoken my love, I’ve lived it.
What was the use of hungering after a man she could never have?
“What could be nicer than falling in love?”
“Almost anything, I think."
The wurrst sign a woman can find herself born into, Mrs. Smith darlin’. Och, they’re children of the Devil, so they are!
It didn’t matter what anyone else thought, it didn’t, it didn’t!
Light and empty as the air so alluringly full of marine tang and sun-soaked vegetation, he drifted for a while on the wings of a different kind of freedom: the relief of relinquishing his mandate to fight her, the peace of losing a long, incredibly bloody war and finding the surrender far sweeter than the battles.
She wanted to roll it round on her tongue, get the bouquet of it into her lungs, spin it dizzying to her brain.
What bliss it would be if just once in his life he could show his feelings! But habit, training and discretion were too ingrained.
It never occurred to that subtle, devious mind that an outward display of frankness might be more mendacious than any evasion.
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