“You don't care what people think," he said.She couldn't tell from the way he emphasized the words if he was asking a question or making an observation. Still, she felt obliged to answer."Of course I care. To a certain extent we all care, but we can't care to the point that we live in fear of others' opinion, that we allow them to change who we are. We must be willing to stand up and defend what represents the very core of our being. Otherwise what is the purpose of individuality? We'd be nothing but imitations of each other, and I daresay we'd all be rather boring.”

“I daresay with age comes the inclination not to care much what others think.”

“I don’t care,” Livy stated emphatically. “I don’t care if our marriage is nullified. As for our children, they will be loved and they will be taught to laugh at society’s rules when they don’t suit them. They will have your strength of conviction, Jack, and your mother’s strength of purpose. We will all honor her. She was a remarkable woman. I wish I’d had an opportunity to know her. She gave me something very precious. “I love you, Jack Dodger. I love you with all my heart and soul. If I must live with you without benefit of marriage, so be it. I shall do it with no regrets and with an amazing amount of pride that you’ve chosen me to stand at your side. And when I go to hell, I shall gladly dance with you.”

“Why did you think my reason for being here had something to do with Frannie?” Luke asked. “Because she’s what we all have in common.” “No, Feagan is what we all have in common.” “But Frannie is the one we all circle around to protect.”

“How did you get in here?” Sterling asked, wishing his words didn’t sound quite so slurred. He was having more difficulty than usual bringing his shadowed world into focus. Damnation, why hadn’t he lit more lamps or poured himself fewer snifters of brandy?“Not important,” Jack Dodger said. “What is important is for you to realize that you can do nothing to keep us out if we decide we want in.”

“If he wasn't angry, he certainly did a good imitation. His voice was clipped and as hard as stone. She wrung her hands together. "I love you. Clay.""No, you don't."Meg felt as though he'd just slapped her. "Yes, I do. When you leave this town, I'll go with you."Narrowing his eyes, he studied her. "Will you marry me?""Yes.""Will you give me children?""If I can. Kirk and I were never able to conceive, but if I can have children, I want to have yours.""In this town that we move to, wherever it is, will you walk down the street with me?""Of course.""Holding my hand?""Yes.""And the hands of my children?""Yes."He unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. She wanted to fling herself into his embrace, but something hard in his eyes stopped her."And what happens, Mrs. Warner, when someone you know rides through town and points at me and calls me a yellow-bellied coward? What will you do then? Will you let go of my hand and take my children to the other side of the street? Will you pretend that you haven't kissed me, that you haven't lain with me beneath the stars?" With disgust marring his features, he turned away. "You think I'm a coward. Go home.""I don't think that. I love you."He spun around. "You don't believe in that love, you don't believe in me.""Yes, I do."He stalked toward her. She backed into the corner and bent her head to meet his infuriated gaze."How strongly do you believe in our love?" he asked, his voice ominously low. "If they threatened to strip off your clothes unless you denied our love, would you deny our love?"He gave her no chance to respond, but continued on, his voice growing deeper and more ragged, as though he were dredging up events from the past."If they wouldn't let you sleep until you denied our love, would you deny our love so you could lay your head on a pillow?"If they stabbed a bayonet into your backside every time your eyes drifted closed, would you deny our love so your flesh wouldn't be pierced?"If they applied a hot brand to your flesh until you screamed in agony, would you deny our love so they'd take away the iron?"If they placed you before a firing squad, would you say you didn't love me so they wouldn't shoot you?"He stepped back and plowed his hands through his hair. "You think I'm a coward. You don't think I have the courage to stand beside you and risk the anger of your father. I'd die before I turned away from anyone or anything I believed in. You won't even walk by my side."He looked the way she imagined soldiers who had lost a battle probably looked: weary, tired of the fight, disillusioned."You don't believe in me," he said quietly. "How can you believe in our love?”

“Henry nodded. “May I ask you a question?”“Certainly, Your Grace.”He pointed at Jack. “Is he the Artful Dodger?”Mr. Dickens bent low. “I write fiction, Your Grace. The characters inmy books do not really exist, but if they did”—he winked—“I do believehe would be the Artful Dodger.”“I knew it!”“And do you see that gentleman over there?”“Lord Claybourne?”Dickens nodded. “He would be Oliver.”“And what about Miss Frannie?”“She is every sweet girl who appears in the story.”