“Here I am in the garden laughingan old woman with heavy breastsand a nicely mapped facehow did this happenwell that's who I wanted to beat last a womanin the old style sittingstout thighs apart undera big skirt grandchild slidingon off my lap a pleasantsummer perspirationthat's my old man across the yardhe's talking to the meter readerhe's telling him the world's sad storyhow electricity is oil or uraniumand so forth I tell my grandsonrun over to your grandpa ask himto sit beside me for a minute Iam suddenly exhausted by my desireto kiss his sweet explaining lips.”

“Cause I'm just - I want to go to Amsterdam, and I want him to tell me what happens after the book is over, and I just don't want my particular life, and also the sky is depressing me, and there is this old swing set out here that my dad made for me when I was a kid.''I must see this old swing set of tears immediately,' he said. 'I'll be over in twenty minutes.”

“I say, did you hear me?" The old man shook a worn walking stick at the oak. "I said move it and I meant it! I was sitting on that rock" -he pointed to a boulder- "enjoying the rising sun on my old bones when you had the nerve to cast a shadow over it and chill me! Move this instant. I say!" The tree did not respond. It also did not move. "I won't take any more of your insolence!" The old man began to beat on the tree with his stick. "Move or I'll - I'll -" "Someone shut that looney in a cage!" Fewmaster Toede shouted, galloping back from the front of the caravan. "Get your hands off me!" the old man shreiked at the draconians who ran up and accosted him. He beat on them feebly with his staff until they took it away from him. "Arrest the tree!" he insisted. "Obstructing sunlight! That's the charge!”

“Then he asked me to tell him some stories about India, about America, about Italy, about my family. That's when I realized that I am not Ketut Liyer's English teacher, nor am I exactly his theological student, but I am the merest and simplest of pleasures for this old medicine man- I am his company. I'm somebody he can talk to because he enjoys hearing about the world and he hasn't had much of a chance to see it.”

“The old-fashioned bravado started pissing me off. I pierced my lips together as my nostrils flared. Over 100 years old and boys will still be boys. I hoped for a little bit more maturity.”

“What are you doing?” I tried to pull away, but his hand slipped from my hair to cup the nape of my neck.When he whispered, his warm breath brushed over my lips. “Just let me kiss you, Calla. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to. No one has to know.”My lips parted as I drew a sudden, startled breath and in that instant his mouth was on mine, soft as velvet. I closed my eyes against the rush of a hundred wings that suddenly beat in my chest and soared through my body.His scent was all around me. Leather, sandalwood, bonfires in autumn. He pulled back, but only for the sake of moving his lips to trail over my neck.My blood was on fire and I was shaking. Is this really happening?I couldn’t stop thinking about Shay in the clearing. About asking him to kiss me. The electric touch of his lips on mine.But this is where I belong. I tried to push the memories back.Ren stroked my knee, his fingers wandering up my thigh, sliding beneath the hem of my dress.I grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”He didn’t free his arm from my grasp but continued kissing my collar bone.“Let’s skip the waiting part,” he murmured into my skin.”