“Those tingles she’d felt in her abdomen spread lower. Her body recognised her lover’s voice, wanted him.”

“She wanted him. Not in the sweet way of poetry, though there was that music in the symmetry of his body, in the careful meshing of bone and sinew and flesh that made him.Her want was raw. Physical. She felt it in the palms of her hands and the flesh of her lips and the heaviness of her breasts.In her life, she’d been hungry, and thirsty. She’d needed sleep. She had never, in her life, needed to touch a man.”

“He threaded his hand through her hair, tugging her closer. Her body strained toward him, her breasts all but bursting the buttons of her flannel pajamas. She swallowed the last of the candy cane as he lowered his mouth to hers.He didn’t ravage, as she’d expected. His mouth was soft and warm on hers, and the scrape of his stubbled jaw added to the thrill. She moaned and clung to him, her mind emptying like sand tumbling from a bucket.Resist? Absolutely not. She wanted this. Him.”

“Warmth pooled in her belly, and spiraled through her body. Her breasts, her abdomen, her knees. Her knees? She'd never really had an orgasm in her knees before.”

“Not all of it was done by soldiers, or by men. She’d shut her eyes and run her fingers over Jack’s shoulders, down his spine, as a blind person might seek to recognise the shape of something. The shape—the ache in her own flesh—of her love for him.”

“In the midst of silence Lyra stood by Lanre's body and spoke his name. Her voice was a commandment. Her voice was steel and stone. Her voice told him to live again. But Lanre lay motionless and dead”“In the midst of fear Lyra knelt by Lanre's body and breathed his name. Her voice beckoning. Her voice was love and longing. Her voice called him to live again. But Lanre lay dead and cold.”“In the midst of despair Lyra fell across Lanre's body and wept his name. Her voice was a whisper. Her voice was echo and emptiness. Her voice begged him to live again. But Lanre lay breathless and dead”