“Oh yes. His voice has music.”

“I believe in you," he says, his voice hushed and almost reverent. "That's more faith than I ever thought I'd have.”

“The word is yes.”

“The Society music plays around and over us, but our thoughts are our own.”

“Here," I say. "You can put music behind it, and it will be your own." And it strikes me that this is how writing anything is, really. A collaboration between you who give the words and they who take them and find meaning in them, or put music behind them, or turn them aside because they were not what was needed.”

“People fall in love', I say, my voice hoarse. 'It happens.”

“What is it about your voice thatmakes me want to hear you speak?”