“Although she had a slight build, Eilidh was solid and heavier than she first appeared. Rather than throw her over his shoulder, he tried to carry her as though propping up a drunken friend. People would accept the latter without question, but a burly guy carrying a woman fireman-style? That might draw second looks.”

“Without warning, he felt a familiar tug. Eilidh. If the intensity of the sensation was anything to go by, she was coming back and moving quickly. He had no way of knowing how long she would take, but it made his heart lighter to know he would see her soon.”

“Perhaps, more than anything, it occurred to her that maybe she didn't have to spend the rest of eternity alone. One person could know, perhaps. One friend. Maybe. This strange human shed a ray of hope into her life.”

“He wouldn't have to search for her long. She was nestled in his thoughts like a pebble in his shoe. His mind pointed toward her as if she were true north.”

“Her tone held a challenge. She did not need his condemnation or what his pity. Once, she had wanted his love, but that time had passed into dust. There was no point wanting things that could never be.”

“His mum had loved her ornaments, as she called them, but when she died, his dad waited about a week before boxing them up and giving them to a charity shop. “I loved your mum, Quinton,” he’d said, “but I hate them fuckin’ porcelaincats.”

“When I was her age," Munro said to Eilidh, "I was chasing frogs."Oron Chuckled. "When I was your age, I was chasing frogs. Come. We have things to discuss.”