“John?As it was dark he whistled a what.You are such a male of worth, you know that. You really are.”

“The restlessness and the longing, like the longing that is in the whistle of a faraway train. Except that the longing isn't really in the whistle—it is in you.”

“You are like a child who whistles in the dark. As though the dark cared, my poor child, as though the dark cared. ”

“If she’s out here and not locked up in the barracks, I’ll know,” he said. He took a deep breath and whistled.“You share a whistle?” Trevanion said in disbelief.“Do you have a problem with that?” Finnikin asked.“I have a few whistles,” Lucian murmured. “Very confusing sometimes.”“Whistles are meant for combat,” Trevanion said. “Not wooing women. Women do not understand whistles.”

“Until the longing came again, like the longing that you hear in the whistle of a train that is going far away. But the longing isn't really in the whistle, the longing is in you—for the wonder and the loveliness that is in the world, and everywhere.”

“I'd pity you," she said in a conversational tone. "But you know,you just aren't worth it. I'd pity your new son, too,but he won't be worth it either after you get done raising him to be just like you-that's if he's even really yours or just-""Get out!" Mortimer cut in furiously.”