“He was summertime itself, young, luminous, lit from within by rekindled hopes and reawakened dreams. And every beggar along his path—herself included—could expect redoubled generosity and kindness.”

“Humans, herself included, held nointerest for her except as living machines, mind-bogglingly intricate, beautiful systems thatsomehow housed individuals not quite worthy of the miracle of their physical bodies.”

“Hastings sat down and braced his arm along the back of the chaise, quite effectively letting it be known he did not want anyone else to join them. “You look frustrated, Miss Fitzhugh.” He lowered his voice. “Has your bed been empty of late?” He knew very well she’d been watched more closely than prices on the stock exchange. She couldn’t smuggle a hamster into her bed, let alone a man. “You look anemic, Hastings,” she said. “Have you been leaving the belles of England breathlessly unsatisfied again?” He grinned. “Ah, so you know what it is like to be breathlessly unsatisfied. I expected as little from Andrew Martin.” Her tone was pointed. “As little as you expect from yourself, no doubt.” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Miss Fitzhugh, you disparage me so, when I’ve only ever sung your praises.” “Well, we all do what we must,” she said with sweet venom. He didn’t reply—not in words, at least.”

“Once theexhilaration of their reunion wore off, once the newness of their lovemaking was no longer sonew, how would she see him? No matter how careful he was, invariably someday he woulddo something to make her angry. What then? Would all the old unhappiness rush to the fore?Would she remember that he had once betrayed her and regret that she’d ever given him asecond chance?Or would she protect herself from the beginning by keeping a certain distance from him, sothat their closeness would always fall short of true communion, always denying him that finalforgiveness so that he could never hurt her again?”

“«She sat at the bow of a pleasure craft a stone's throw away, under the shade of a white parasol, a diligent tourist out to reap all the beauty and charm Copenhagen had to offer. She studied him with a distressed concentration, as if she couldn't quite remember who he was. As if she didn't want to. He looked different. His hair reached down to his nape, and he'd sported a full beard for the past two years. Their eyes met. She bolted upright from the chair. The parasol fell from her hand, clanking against the deck. She stared at him, her face pale, her gaze haunted. He'd never seen her like this, not even on the day he left her. She was stunned, her composure flayed, her vulnerability visible for miles. As her boat glided past him, she picked up her skirts and ran along the port rail, her eyes never leaving his. She stumbled over a line in her path and fell hard. His heart clenched in alarm, but she barely noticed, scrambling to her feet. She kept running until she was at the stern and could not move another inch closer to him (…) Gigi didn't move from her rigid pose at the rail, but she suddenly looked worn down, as if she'd been standing there, in that same spot, for all the eighteen hundred and some days since she'd last seen him. She still loved him. The thought echoed wildly in his head, making him hot and dizzy. She still loved him.»”

“And in the depth of her eyes were all these years—seasons they’d known, paths they’d trod.Slowly he entered her again. Everything reflected in her gaze: shyness, yearning, ripples of pleasure.The pleasure turned fierce, then ferocious. He labored to draw breath. In the wash of her climax, she closed her eyes. He closed his own eyes and yielded to the moment.”

“During terms, Professor Marsden lives in Cambridge with his wife, chess playerextraordinaire and distinguished physician and surgeon Bryony Asquith Marsden. Hisfavorite time of day is half past six in the evening, when he meets Mrs. Marsden’s train at thestation, as the latter returns from her day in London. On Sunday afternoons, rain or shine,Professor and Mrs. Marsden take a walk along The Backs, and treasure growing oldtogether.”