“What was it about scholarship and learning, he wondered, that seemed to wither the hearts of University men, leaving them incapable of loving anything as imperfect and fallible as an actual human being?”

“He said, 'They're only whores,' as though their very availability rendered them worthless.”

“Have you seen Marcus?" he asked his ugly friend."Yes, he was stoping some people in the Violet Room from climbing the curtains.""What for?""They were not professionals.""Oh.”

“Not being the sort to throw a book, she pounded her fist on her cushion.”

“Richard knew he was fighting for his life, and he was terribly happy.”

“The time of testing, and of playing, was over. This was the final duel for one of them. Now they were fighting for their lives--for the one life that would emerge from this elegant battle. . . . For the moment the two of them were evenly matched, arm against arm. Michael prayed that it would never stop, that there would always be this moment of utter mastery, beautiful and rare, and no conclusion ever be reached.”

“But I saw the pair of them, along with everyone else. Hard to miss. Him towering like a raggedy scarecrow in that flapping black scholar's gown, and the sword always quiet next to him, sweet as honey, and poison with it.”