“Another strike of lightening – now accompanied by the deep-bellied rumble, and the horse reared, incidentally setting Henry very picturesquely against the inconstant moon. Alas, Catherine was deeply engaged in her argument with Old Edric and this missed entirely the melodramatic display. But we may assume that, possessing so strong an imagination, Catherine had often pictured Henry thus...”

“Such a narrative as this demands some sort of physical consolation for its spiritual tribulation. Our heroine received it in one last cup of tea. The reader may be advised to do so likewise.”

“But neither could compare with the gargantuan natural edifice that was the mountain upon which Nachtstürm Castle rose. It was a mountain made of the darkness between two lightning bolts. It was made less of earth than Stygian frost. Whole towns fell away as they ascended, as though the ranks of black and frowning conifers waged war against the humans below. Even the path – rather narrow and rarely straight – seemed less made by centuries of pilgrim feet and more by the trace of some careless demon’s claw.It was, in fact, perfect.”

“What could she have done? She was a heroine, and with that came certain obligations.”

“All seems smooth and easy: where is the obstacle?' 'Here! and here!' replied Catherine, striking one hand on her forehead, and the other on her breast, 'in whichever place the soul lives.”

“And you love Edgar, and Edgar loves you. All seems smooth and easy: where is the obstacle?""Here! and here!" replied Catherine, striking one hand on her forehead, and another on her breast: "in whichever place the soul lives. In my soul and in my heart, I'm convinced I'm wrong!”

“Catherine had never wanted comfort more, and [Henry] looked as if he was aware of it.”