“Lymond, released, flung his head back and, viewing his winnings, gave them solemn dispensation to descend for the space of the dance. He asked for and obtained some chalk, and set to marking his and Mat’s property where the cross was most obvious and the whim most appreciated.”

“He who suffers wins in politics. The martyr does not obtain the victory personally, but his group, his successors, win in the long run.”

“Scott, deaf and enchanted in the gallery, and the whole row of pretty heads at his side saw the concerted rush on Lymond: his assailants downed him without malice and eighteen stones of Molly planted themselves on his chest. “A throw!” said Molly, and Lymond, half buried, gave a choked whoop of laughter and raised a defeated hand in signal to Tammas.”

“How’s your dance card look?” “Double-check your century Jules. No dance cards.” Jules shrugged & gave me his most flirtatious smile.”

“Are you going to kiss me or not?”He released the jacket. “Not,” he rasped.“Then I’ll kiss you.” Cupping his nape, she drew his head down, butNate laid his fingertips over her mouth.“Some things you can’t take back.”Claire lifted his hand. “Some things you don’t want to.”

“He was all but shouting, stalking toward her. He grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake. "This time, the bastards don't win. I win.""What do you win?" she whispered.He bent his head and crushed his lips to hers.”