“Men wouldn't ask any such thing. They'd already know what caught my eye. He whispered in a conspiratorial fashion. "It's your tits." "They're magnificent." He wasn't even looking at them, but Minnie's hand itched to cover herself - not to block out his sight, but to explore her own curves. To see if, perhaps, her bosom was magnificent, if it had been magnificent all these years, and she had simply never noticed.”

“Almost as swiftly as he had imagined it, she had torn her clothes off, and when she flung them aside it was with that same magnificent gesture by which a whole civilization seemed to be annihilated.”

“Desari reached up to trace his lips. ‘You have a perfect mouth, Julian. An amazingly perfect mouth.’He arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Just my mouth is amazing?’‘You are such a man.’ Her eyes laughed at him. ‘You need constant reassurance that you are magnificent.’He nodded. ‘Magnificent. I like that. I could live with magnificent. Good choice of words, lifemate.”

“Never had he beheld such a magnificent brown skin, so entrancing a figure, such dainty, transparent fingers. He stood gazing in wonder at her work-basket as if it was something extraordinary. What was her name? Where did she live and what sort of life did she lead? What was her past? He wanted to know what furniture she had in her bedroom, the dresses she wore, the people she knew; even his physical desire for her gave way to a deeper yearning, a boundless, aching curiosity.”

“Rourk didn’t even know her name, but he knew he’d never seen anyone so magnificent in his life. Her wavy hair glistened in the sunlight. She had a delicate, round face with large, blue-green eyes and full lips. With her cheeks flushed from the cold fall air, she reminded him of a porcelain doll. He knew that her looks deceived; her bold, daring eyes gave her away. She constantly observed her surroundings. Rourk smiled to himself; soon they would be together.”

“Writing this, he had reached the pit of despair and he thought that reading it, she would at least begin to sense his tragedy and her part in it. It was not that she had ever forced her way on him. That had never been necessary. Her way had simply been the air he breathed and when at last he had found other air, he couldn't survive in it. He felt that even if she didn't understand at once, the letter would leave her with an enduring chill and perhaps in time lead her to see herself as she was.”