“...And he said nothing. Just put his arms around her more closely as the whole heart clinic and their friends and relations danced to the music of "Hey Jude".”

“He puts his arm around me, the lights dancing on his dark skin constantly skipping across to mine, planting a myriad of emotions into each pore as if preparing my heart for tilling.”

“And then she frowned, and shook her head, then put her arms around him once more, pressing her face into his shoulder, making a noise that sounded almost like rage.'What's up?' he asked.'Nothing. Oh, nothing. Just...' She looked up at him. 'I thought I'd finally got rid of you.''I don't think you can.' he said”

“She would (if she could) put her arm around the girl she'd been and try to tell her Take it easy, but the girl would not have listened. The girl had no receptors for Take it easy. And besides, "Hey Jude" was on the radio, it was her prayer, her manifesto, almost her dwelling place. She sang it everywhere. The music made her cry then; it makes her cry now. Listening to it now brings back memories so sharp they taste like blood in her mouth.”

“I don’t know how to dance!” she said. His arms tightened around her when she tried to pull away. “Then just let me hold you.”

“He held her gaze as he lowered his head toward her. He didn't kiss her though--just leaned kissably close and asked, "Will you let me take you in my arms... for a dance, Leslie?”