“Valerie stood with the other women, watching the men go. She couldn't help bristling at this division of the sexes. Her fingers itched to hold a weapon, too, to do something, to kill something with her anger.”

“He needed to gather her up, hold on to her, anything to help her stop trembling. Something was going to shake loose if she didn’t.”

“She wanted to walk slowly and smell the wafting perfumes of bouquets that men had bought for their sweethearts and watch couples holding each other tight as they dashed along the pavement on their way to or from something that made them grateful to be in each other's company. Going home felt the same as going to sleep, and she was too bouncing, too overcome with bliss for that.”

“Surely,' she said, much quieter, more reasonable, 'surely you've been with other women?'His glance at her was dry. 'What do you think?'She looked away at random. 'I think that it appears we have a double standard, here. Men can have sex, women can't. Who, then, do the men have sex with?”

“He clasped her fingers, not so she could pull him up but clearly because he wanted to touch them. She wanted it too, way too much, and then he stood there right in front of her, the abyss beside them, and she could smell his skin and his hair, and let go of his hand, even though she secretly wanted something quite different.”

“There's something special about her. When she helped me with her touch-""Exactly what was she touching that was so memorable for you?""Watch your mouth.”