“Anna," he said for the fourth time, as if there was nothing more to say, now that she'd finally answered. Nothing but her name. As if he'd just called to make sure she existed.”

“Before he'd met Anna, he'd thought he'd known what love was, thought he'd understood about friendship, romance, all o fit, but he hadn't - not at all. Until he'd held Anna in his arms, until he'd let her see his soul, until he'd heard her cry gently when he made love to her for the first time, he'd known nothing.”

“He wondered if that was her version of a green light. He hoped it was. If he thought she would believe him, he'd tell her how he wanted to protect Miracle, how he wanted to make her happy forever and make sure nothing happened to her, to make sure she never shed another tear as long as she lived.”

“They could flee to Paris. To America. He had the money; she'd want for nothing. He'd take the mother, if she insisted. The mother, the maid, her pet spaniel, if she had one. He'd go anywhere, dare anything, to have her. And he knew nothing about her.Was love insanity, or insanity love?”

“But it was equally clear to her that this was her fate, that she had called its name and it had come to her, and she could do nothing now but own it.”

“And then she frowned, and shook her head, then put her arms around him once more, pressing her face into his shoulder, making a noise that sounded almost like rage.'What's up?' he asked.'Nothing. Oh, nothing. Just...' She looked up at him. 'I thought I'd finally got rid of you.''I don't think you can.' he said”