“He was the strangest of strangers in that he was also her oldest friend.”

“He loved her for being so beautiful, and he hated her for it. He loved how she put shiny stuff on her lips for him, and he also reviled her for it. He wanted her to walk home alone, and he wanted to run after her and grab her up before she could take another step.”

“Or was he the romantic fiction of a girl who'd been desperate for a handsome stranger to come along?”

“He took her in his arms right away. "I'm so sorry," he murmured in her ear. He rocked her, saying it over and over.But no matter how many times he said it, no matter how much she knew he meant it, the words stirred around in her ear but didn't get into her brain. Sometimes he could comfort her. Sometimes he said what she needed, but today he couldn't reach her. Nothing could.”

“He'd pushed her. He'd scared her. He'd besieged her. He'd vowed he wouldn't, and he did.”

“The most haunting thing was not that he didn't love her anymore. She could have accepted that eventually. The most haunting thing was that he did. He loved her from afar. He loved her in a way that was preserved in time, that couldn't be sullied. And she tended it in her careful, curatorial way.”

“He could lose himself in her forever, he thought.”