“You can touch me, but you can't hurt me.”

“As if. You so got it for him. I mean, can we say, 'Uhm, urh, durh, Sloppy Joe'? Psh. Please. Can't hide it from me.”

“I can't help it that I'm susceptible to you," he whispered. "You know that. It's just that you're so...unreal...and so I have to touch you. If only to be certain that I'm not the one who's dreaming. You see, I hear that sort of thing is going around.”

“To Madeline, This subtle second selfSheaf of meCan do more than you ever could.Like you, it can leaveAnd goSomewhere else.The night splits me in two.I disconnect —To sink, to fall, to flyAnd rageForeverAnd alwaysWithout you”

“So, you let me get through that whole spiel, my entire tirade, but weren't going to let me have the dramatic walkaway, were you?”

“Why the snap-crackle-pop didn't you call me?”

“I'll keep it," she said. "Then, when you get back, after you and the dark one are done making out and planning a future filled with blond-haired, green-eyed, pigment-challeneged rug rats, I'll bring it over and you can add it to your scrapbook, right before you start cooking me dinner. I like vegetarian lasagna with cottage cheese instead of ricotta.""Gwen?""And don't forget the mushrooms. Garlic bread, too, please. That is, as long as your vampire lover doesn't object.""I want to say thank you," Isobel said. "For... everything.""No," Gwen said. "Thank you for the delicious dinner. I can almost taste the baklava you and Darth Vader will be making for dessert. Something tells me you're gonna have to look that one up, though.”