“She named her cat Phil Donahue, hoping he'd greet her the way Donahue ran to the women in his audience, eager to hear anything they had to say about seat belts, war, or divorce.”

“Years after the war, after marriages, children, divorces, books, he came to Paris with his wife. He phoned her. It's me. She recognized him at once from the voice. He said, I just wanted to hear your voice. She said, it's me, hello. He was nervous, afraid, as before. His voice suddenly trembled. And with the trembling, suddenly, she heard again the voice of China. He knew she'd begun writing books, he'd heard about it through her mother whom he'd met again in Saigon. And about her younger brother, and he'd been grieved for her. Then he didn't know what to say. And then he told her. Told her that it was as before, that he still loved her, he could never stop loving her, that he'd love her until death.”

“Damn right. Now shut up, Donahue, and tell me that you'll spend the rest of your life with me."Matt pronounced his next words very carefully:"I do.”

“She was his as surely as if he'd branded his name on her skin.”

“He'd already planned on checking out the house for her, but what he hadn't planned on was her hooking her hand around the back of his belt and urging him forward like a human shield. Now, there were times in Dylan's life when he hadn't minded women using his body, but they'd always been naked a the time. He didn't know how he felt about being used as a target so Hope could run like hell if anything hit him first.-Dylan”

“Still mad,” she gasped.He covered one of her fists with his hand, entwining their fingers,while his other slipped beneath her, stroking her where they werejoined, slowly driving her straight to heaven without a seat belt.“Then I should stop.”