“Play it, Eddie, don't be foolish;' she urges. 'Now's the time, break the spell once and for all, prove to yourself that it can't hurt you. If you don't do it now, you'll never get over the idea. It'll stay with you all your life. Go ahead. I'll dance it just like I am.' 'Okay,' he says.He taps. It's been quite some time, but he can rely on his outfit. Slow and low like thunder far away, coming nearer. Boom-putta-putta-boom! Judy whirls out behind him, lets out the first preliminary screech, Eeyaeeya!She hears a commotion in back of her and stops as suddenly as she began. Eddie Bloch's fallen flat on his face and doesn't move again after that.They all know, somehow. There's an inertness, a finality about it that tells them. The dancers wait a minute, mill about, then melt away in a hush. Judy Jarvis doesn't scream, doesn't cry, just stands there staring, wondering. That last thought - did it come from inside his own mind just now - or outside? Was it two months on its way, from the other side of the grave, looking for him, looking for him, until it found him tonight when he played the Chant once more and laid his mind open to Africa? No policeman, no detective, no doctor, no scientist, will ever be able to tell her. Did it come from inside or from outside? All she says is: 'Stand close to me, boys - real close to me, I'm afraid of the dark.' ("Papa Benjamin" aka "Dark Melody Of Madness")”

“Tell me you don't love me."Laurel's mouth moved, but she said nothing."Tell me," he said, his voice sharp and demanding. "Tell me David is all you need or want in your life." His face was closer to her, his soft breath caressing her face. "That you never think of me when you're kissing him. That you don't dream about me the way I dream about you.Tell me you don't love me."She looked up at him,desperation consuming her. Her mouth felt dry, parched, and the words she tried to force out wouldn't come."You can't even say it," he said, his arms pulling her in now instead of holding her steady. "Then love me, Laurel. Just love me!”

“I stare at him. "You can't risk not winning. Not because of me." Sean doesn't lift his eyes from the counter. "We make our move when you make yours. You on the inside, me on the outside. Corr can come from the middle of the pack; he's done it before. It's one side you won't have to worry about." I say, "I will not be your weakness, Sean Kendrick." Now he looks at me. He says, very softly, "It's late for that, Puck.”

“Dragon! My lord...oh, please, wake up-speak to me! Don't you dare just lie there!" Tears all but blinded her and slid unheeded down her ashen cheeks. Clasping his shoulders, she tried to lift him. "Please...wake up...don't-"He was too heavy, she couldn't budge him. And he just lay there, his eyes closed,all the life seemingly gone from him. A sob broke from her. She grabbed hold of his tunic and pulled so hard that the sturdy cloth came close to rending. "Don't you dare! You can't be hurt! Think of all the battles you've been though, all the adventures! Are you going to let a horse you don't even like do this to you?"One eye opened and looked at her balefully. "Would it be better somehow if I did like him?"Rycca gave a shriek of delight and threw her arms around Dragon's neck, damn near choking him. By the time he managed to disentangle himself, his vision had cleared enough to see that his wife was crying and laughing at the same time. That rather pleased him."It's all right," he said gruffly. "I'm fine.Only let me get up.""Careful," Rycca admonished and stood by to help him. "Here,put your weight on me."Dragon started to laugh and thought better of it when he realized his head was pounding. "Lady,if I do that, I will crush you.”

“She tries to move toward him, but the path is covered with gravel, which slows her down. Then he turns his head and sees her. He puts down his brush and comes closer, and the closer he comes, the closer he comes, the happier she is she didn't put on mascara, she doesn't want to cry but she can't help it, she can hardly see him through the welling tears. She quickly wipes her eyes. She looks at him. He's standing two steps away. She could stretch out her hand, he'd come even closer, she could touch him. He's the same, thinner, the most beautiful man in the world, with the eyes Germain Pire described to her, a very pale blue, almost gray, quiet and gentle, with something struggling in their depths, a child, a soul of agony. His voice hasn't changed.The first thing she hears him say--it's terrible--he asks her, "You can't walk?" She shakes her head. He sighs, goes back to his painting. She pushes the wheels, moves toward the shed. He looks over at her again, he smiles. "You want to see what I'm doing?" She nods her head. "I'll show you in a little bit," he says. "But not right now, it's not finished."So while she waits, she sits up straight in her scooter, she crosses her hands in her lap, she looks at him. Yes, she looks at him, she looks at him, life is long and can still carry a great deal more on its back.She looks at him.”

“13NOTESShe hesitated. For two years she had kept as far away from Mikael Blomkvist as she could. And yet he kept sticking to her life like gum on the sole of her shoe, either on the Net or in real life. On the Net it was O.K. There he was no more than electrons and words. In real life, standing on her doorstep, he was still fucking attractive. And he knew her secrets just as she knew all of his. She looked at him for a moment and realized that she now had no feelings for him. At least not those kinds of feelings. He had in fact been a good friend to her over the past year. She trusted him. Maybe. It was troubling that one of the few people she trusted was a man she spent so much time avoiding. Then she made up her mind. It was absurd to pretend that he did not exist. It no longer hurt her to see him. She opened the door wide and let him into her life again.”