“Whatever her name was, she was pretty. She had a thick, careless braid of chestnut hair, a quick smile, and dark, merry eyes. She wore some kind of a fuzzy lavender pullover, and when she crossed her legs and lifted her guitar onto her lap, she had an interesting way of tucking the foot of the bottom leg back under her chair that made Hector feel melty. He looked away in self-preservation.”

“I found her lying on her stomach, her hind legs stretched out straight, and her front feet folded back under her chest. She had laid her head on his grave. I saw the trail where she had dragged herself through the leaves. The way she lay there, I thought she was alive. I called her name. She made no movement. With the last ounce of strength in her body, she had dragged herself to the grave of Old Dan.”

“She tucked the stiff envelope into her pocket and it pressed against her leg all day, reminding her that she had been written to, that she belonged to somebody.”

“She had a dream about a tattoo. This was a pleasant dream. She was walking away and she had the most beautiful tattoo. It covered her shoulders, her back, the back of her legs. It was unspeakably fine.”

“My eyes pop out when I catch a glimpse of how much leg she's showing. She's wearing her shortest mini skirt, the one that drives me crazy. Her legs look about a mile long as she crosses them and bobs her foot in time with the cafe's background music.She's really trying to kill me, isn't she?”

“The reality was that while they might have eternity, there was violence on the horizon. And in the present. She wasn't intending on ignoring it. She couldn't. But she wasn't going to ignore them either. Just kiss me, ---.”A look of hesitation crossed his face, but he didn't push her away. He swept her legs from under her and lifted her into his arms. " -Darkest Mercy (p 28)”