“She also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but Peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.”

“What does it feel like?” he asked.“What does what feel like?”Peter thought for a moment. “Being at the top.”Josie reached across him for another packet of material and fed it into the stapler. She did three ofthese, and Peter was certain that she was going to ignore him, but then she spoke. “Like if you takeone wrong step,” she said, “you’re going to fall.”

“She opened her eyes and studied him a moment. Then she slipped her hand in her pocket, come up with something and held it toward him - palming it, like a secret. "For you," she said. "For me?""I'd like you to have it."It was a snapshot stolen from her family album: Muriel as a toddler, clambering out of a wading pool. She meant, he supposed, to give him the best of her. And so she had. But the best of her was not that cild's Shirley Temple hairdo. It was her fierceness as she fought her way toward the camera with her chin set awry and her eyes bright slits of determination. He yhanked her. He said he would keep it forever.”

“The other one he loved like a slave, like a madman and like a beggar. Why? Ask the dust on the road and the falling leaves, ask the mysterious God of life; for no one knows such things. She gave him nothing, no nothing did she give him and yet he thanked her. She said: Give me your peace and your reason! And he was only sorry she did not ask for his life.”

“I don’t know why I lived and she not. She was better than I, sweeter and kinder. It should have been me.”“No!” He held her fiercely, stroking away the tears that trickled down her ashen cheeks. “Do not say that! Does not your own faith teach that we are always in the hands of god?”“A careless god or an unfathomable one. Why create a world of pain?”“It is not. You know yourself, there is great beauty here and joy.”She knew, at least now she did, since she had known him.“I am a Viking.” He said it sorrowfully, as though he would change it if he could.“I do not think you are like the others.” Truth. She did not, had never, not since the knowing of him.“You do not touch me.” The words were out before she could reclaim them. She bit her lip hard, drawing blood.“Don’t,” he said, nearly pleading as he caught the tiny crimson drop. His lips touched hers, brushing lightly, giving her the taste of him. “I will,” he said, and she was gone, lost in the glow of yearning.”

“He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.”