“My English teacher has no face. She has uncombed stringy hair that droops on her shoulders. The hair is black from her part to her ears and then neon orange to the frizzy ends. I can't decide if she had pissed off her hairdresser or is morphing into a monarch butterfly. I call her Hairwoman.”

“I unbuckled her. She barely stirred. A lock of hair had fallen in her face so I gave in to the urge to touch it. Reaching up I tucked the hair behind her ear. She was so damn beautiful. I'd never move on from her. It wasn't possible. I had to find a way to get her back.”

“Her hair, drawn back off her ears, brushed her shoulders in such a way that the face seemed to have just emerged from it, as if this were the exact moment when she was coming from a wood into clear moonlight. The unknown yielded her up; Dick wished she had no background, that she was just a girl lost with no address save the night from which she had come.”

“Sullivan hung at my shoulder. "Is she a student?""No." I brushed her hair out of her face. "Fix her."He laughed, a little helplessly. "You have such faith in me.”

“She leaned into my shoulder. "Maybe you don't have to be a Caster to have power."I pushed her hair behind her ear. "Maybe you just have to fall for one.”

“WE ARE TO PLAY THE GAME OF DEATHE are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I. The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea. We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I. We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind. My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast. Long have I served her tenderly. I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes. I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor. She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness. She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her. To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild. My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out. Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast. The push of death has swung her into life. We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.”