“What was wrong with him?Nothing. Everything.”

“Jonathan’s arm jerked to the side in clumsy reaction, tipping over the bottle of ink that sat on the desk beside his papers. He watched the dark liquid obliterate in a moment what had cost him an afternoon of painful effort to complete. It was a fitting metaphor for his life, he thought, like the despair that spread inexorably through his being, a creeping blackness that threatened to blot out what small hope or purpose was yet left to him.”

“Day by day, the constant solitude drove him deeper inside himself, with only his thoughts for companions. Soon he might lose the capacity for social intercourse altogether. The possibility of such an eventuality brought him to his feet”

“I’m a coward.”“No—”“Don’t deny what we both know to be true.”Richard put his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “You are worn down by your burdens. Tired, not cowardly.”Jonathan shook his head. He didn’t argue the point. Was it because he was too tired, or too cowardly?”

“I prefer the keen edge of truth to the dull comfort of lies.”

“Beautiful. Belle is French for beautiful.”“Oh dear.” She could never live up to her name. The thought made her want to cry. “Please, sir.”“But you are beautiful. It mystifies me that you don’t seem to believe that fact.”“My mirror tells me otherwise every day of my life.”“Then accept that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and my eyes tell me you are beautiful.”

“We must hold our secrets to ourselves. They define us. They are all we have.”