“She stood looking carefully at the labeled portraits Ursala had put up: Little Crow, Chief of the Santees, Geronimo, last of the Apaches, and Ursala's favorite, Big Foot, dying in the snow at Wounded Knee."Isn't that where the massacre was?" asked Ellen."Yes. I'm going to go there when I'm grown up. To Wounded Knee.""That seems sensible," said Ellen.”

“What about you, Ellen?' he asked. 'What does music mean to you?'It was a while before she answered. 'When I was at school... quite little still... there was a girl there who had perfect pitch and a lovely voice and she played the piano. I used to hear people talking about her.' She paused, lacing her fingers together. '"She's musical," they used to say, "Deirdre's musical," and it was as if they'd said: "She's angelic." That's how it seemed to me to be musical: to be angelic.'Isaac turned to her. 'My God, Ellen,' he said huskily, 'it is you who are angelic. If there's anyone in the world who is angelic it is you.”

“He then kissed her.It was a very long time before he let her go. When he did, she looked up at him, hurt and bewilderment on her face.“Why did you stop?” asked Tessa.“I thought you might want to breathe,” said Guy carefully.“Breathe?” said Tessa, shocked. “I don’t need to breathe when I’m with you.”

“She's like snow in Russian," said Anna. "Snow in the evening when the sun sets and it looks like Alpengluhen, you know? And if snow had a scent it would smell like that [the rose]....”

“I must go-- the aunts will be worried. Guy, I don't know if we will meet again, but--" Her voice broke and she tried again. "Sometimes, when you're alone and you look up at--" Once more, she had to stop. Then she managed, "If I cannot be anything else... could I be your Star Sister? Could I at least be that?"Guy dug his nails into his palms. Everything in him rose in protest at the fey, romantic conceit. He did not want her in the heavens, linked to him by some celestial whimsy, but here and now in the flesh and after the death of the flesh, her hand in his as they rose from graves like these when the last trump sounded."Yes," he managed to say. "You can be my Star Sister. You can at least be that.”

“Slowly, Anna put up a hand to his muzzle and began to scratch that spot behind the ear where large dogs keep their souls.”

“When you're sad, my Little Star, go out of doors. It's always better underneath the open sky.”