“How are you managing to keep everyone from aging?” Celia asks after a while. “Very carefully,” Marco answers.”

“Which tent is your favourite?" he asks."The Ice Garden," Celia answers, without even pausing to consider."Why is that?" Marco asks."Because of the way it feels," she says. "It's like walking into a dream. As though it is someplace else entirely and not simply another tent...”

“Do you remember all of your audiences?" Marco asks. "Not all of them," Celia says. "But I remember the people who look at me the way you do.""What way might that be?""As though they cannot decide if they are afraid of me or they want to kiss me."" I am not afraid of you," Marco says.”

“So proper for a circus girl," Mme. Padva says with with a gleam in her eye. "We shall have to loosen those corset laces if we intend to keep you an intimate dinner company.""I expected the corset unlacing would take place after dinner," Celia says mildly, earning a chorus of laughter."We shall keep Miss Bowen as intimate company regardless of the state of her corset," Chandresh says. "Make a note of that," he adds, waving a hand at Marco."Miss Bowen's corset is duly noted, sir," Marco replies, and the laghter bubbles over the table again.”

“Celia, wait,” Marco says, standing but not moving closer to her. “You are breaking my heart. You told me once that I reminded you of your father. That you never wanted to suffer the way your mother did for him, but you are doing exactly that to me. You keep leaving me. You leave me longing for you again and again when I would give anything for you to stay, and it is killing me.” “It has to kill one of us,” Celia says quietly.”

“Marco knows he does not have the time to push her away, so he pulls her close, burying his face in her hair, his bowler hat torn from his head by the wind...."Trust me," Celia whispers in his ear, and he stops fighting it, forgetting everything but her.”

“¿Recuerda a todos los de su público? —pregunta Marco.—No a todos ellos —dice Celia—. Pero recuerdo a las personas que me miran de la forma en que usted lo hace.—¿Qué forma es esa?—Como si no pudieran decidirse entre sí me tienen miedo o me quieren besar.—No te tengo miedo —dice Marco.”