“She finds tales everywhere, in grains of sand she picks up from the garden, in puffs of smoke that drift out from the chimneys of the village, in fragments of smooth timber or glass in the jetsam. She will ask them, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?" And they will answer her in voices very like her own, but with new lilts and squeaks and splashes in them that show they are their own.”

“I'll just be your brother from now on."he said, looking at her with a hopeful expectation that she would be pleased, which made her want to scream that he was smashing her heart into pieces and he had to stop. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?" It took her a long time to answer, and when she did, her own voice sounded like an echo, coming from very far away."Yes," she said, and she heard the rush of waves in her ears and her eyes stung as if from sand or salt spray. "That's what I wanted.”

“She walks towards Karen and Karen feels a cool wind against her skin, and the grandmother holds out both of her knobby old hands, and Karen puts out her own hands and touches her, and her hands feel as if sand is falling over them. There's a smell of milkweed flowers and garden soil. The grandmother keeps on walking; her eyes are light blue, and her cheek comes against Karen's, cool grains of dry rice. Then she's like the dots on the comic page, close up, and then she's only a swirl in the air, and then she's gone.”

“Where did you come from?" she asked impulsively."The same place you did."It took her a minute, then she chuckled. "I don't mean biologically. Geographically."He shrugged, trying not to be pleased she had caught on so quickly. "South of here.""Oh,well that's specific," she muttered, then tried again. "What about family? Do you have family?"He stopped to study her. "Why?"With an exaggerated sigh, Gennie shook her head. "This is called making friendly conversation.It's a new trend that's catching on everywhere.""I'm a noncomformist.""No! Really?""You do that wide-eyed, guileless look very well, Genvieve.”

“She pressed her hand against her chest. No heart. So where did the love she felt come from?”

“He looked at the carpet, where moments before the creature had lain, then at her again. She didn't seem rattled. "Who are you, Buffy?"She smiled. "Did that look like a vampire?" She sat down next to him and took a sip from her own whiskey.”