“A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in.”

“What’s your name?’ he asked.‘Wendy Moira Angela Darling,’ she replied with some satisfaction. ‘What is your name?’‘Peter Pan.’She was already sure that he must be Peter, but it did seem a comparatively short name.‘Is that all?’‘Yes,’ he said rather sharply. He felt for the first time that it was a shortish name.‘I’m so sorry,’ said Wendy Moira Angela.‘It doesn’t matter,’ Peter gulped.She asked where he lived.‘Second to the right,’ said Peter, ‘and then straight on till morning.’‘What a funny address!’Peter had a sinking feeling. For the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address.“A moment after the fairy’s entrance the window was blow open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in.”

“Sometimes it slanted against her window with a pinging sound, which meant it was close to hail, and then it was visible as tiny pellets for a moment on the pane before the pellets vanished and rolled quietly down the glass, each drop leaving its own delicate trickle. At other times it fell straight down, hardly touching the window at all, but still there beyond the glass, like a delicate, beaded curtain at the entrance to another room.”

“A drop of poison on that gathering snow. That moment in the fairy tale when we know what just happened but the princess doesn’t.”

“There are little fairies outside,” I breathed, forcing out the words through quick breaths. His brows drew together in a way that wasn’t scary but, instead, surprised and he replied, “Those aren’t fairies, wife, those are elves.” Elves? Elves.”

“we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.”