“Good-bye, Mrs Bartholemew," said tom, shaking hands with stiff politeness; "and thank you very much for having me.""I shall look forward to our meeting again," said Mrs Bartholemew, equally primly. Tom went slowly down the attic stairs. Then, at the bottom, he hesitated: he turned impulsively and ran up again - two at a time - to where Hatty Bartholemew still stood...Afterwards, Aunt Gwen tried to describe to her husband that second parting between them. "He ran up to her, and they hugged each other as if they had known each other for years and years, instead of only having met for the first time this morning. There was something else, too, Alan, although I know you'll say it sounds even more absurd...Of course, Mrs Bartholemew's such a shrunken little old woman, she's hardly bigger than Tom; anyway: but, you know, he put his arms right round her and he hugged her good-bye as if she were a little girl.”

“... He didn't know how to say good-bye. His throat ached from the strain of holding back his emotions. “I don't want to leave you,” he said humbly, reaching for her cold, stiff hands.Emma lowered her head, her tears falling freely. “I'll never see you again, will I?”He shook his head. “Not in this lifetime,” he said hoarsely.She pulled her hands away and wrapped her arms around his neck. He felt her wet lashes brush his cheek. “Then I'll wait a hundred years,” she whispered. “Or a thousand, if I must. Remember that, Nikki. I'll be waiting for you to come to me.”

“Before he finally hops on his borad, he hugs me good-bye and we hold on to each other so tightly under the sad, starless sky that for a moment I feel as if our heartbreak were one instead of two.”

“I hate you. I wish you was dead."Mrs. Carey gasped. He said the words so savagely that it gave her quite a start. She had nothing to say. She sat down in her husband's chair; and as she thought of her desire to love the friendless, crippled boy and her eager wish that he should love her--she was a barren woman and, even though it was clearly God's will that she should be childless, she could scarcely bear to look at little children sometimes, her heart ached so--the tears rose to her eyes and one by one, slowly, rolled down her cheeks. Philip watched her in amazement. She took out her handkerchief, and now she cried without restraint. Suddenly Philip realised that she was crying because of what he had said, and he was sorry. He went up to her silently and kissed her. It was the first kiss he had ever given herwithout being asked. And the poor lady, so small in her black satin, shrivelled up and sallow, with her funny corkscrew curls, took the little boy on her lap and put her arms around him and wept as though her heart would break. But her tears were partly tears of happiness, for she felt that the strangeness between them was gone. She loved him now with a new love because he had made her suffer.”

“Laurence, not sure what to do, remained standing below the steps."And who is this?" Mrs Hamlyn asked.Patrick looked back. "His name is . . . Laurence, mistress."Mrs Hamlyn scrutinized the boy before her. "Where does he come from?" she said, finding him scrawny and dirty."He came to America on the same ship we did."Mrs Hamlyn pursed her lips. "He's very ragged. Is he from Ireland too?""England.""But a friend of yours?"Laurence and Patrick looked at each other."Is he?" Mrs Hamlyn asked again.Patrick said, "He saved my life, twice.""Did he? Then he must be a good friend indeed.”

“A small lady moved on after greeting Livia to address the wedding couple. “Cole Bridge. Look at you!”Cole’s mouth dropped open. “Mrs. D?” After a shocked pause, he scooped her into a hug. “You’re here?”“Of course I am, sweetheart. Your wonderful wife delivered the invitation by hand. She insisted it be a surprise.” Mrs. D rubbed Cole’s arm.Cole turned to Kyle. “Thank you so much. I didn’t know you were going to do this.”Kyle nodded. “I know how much she means to you,” she said.”