“I wanted to tell you that, because you,"said Laurent, as though he was forcingthe words out, "You remind me of him.He was the best man I have ever known.You deserve to know that, as youdeserve atleast a fair . . . In Arles, I treated youwith malice and cruelty. I will not insultyou by attempting to atone for deedswith words, but I would not treat youthat way again. I was angry. Angry, thatisn't the word.”

“If Mark’s words had once made him angry, Martha’s words left him stunned. He started to try to talk her out of it, but Martha gently cut him off. “Will you really miss me?” she said. “We hardly know each other anymore.” “I can change,” he said. Martha smiled. “I know you can. And you should. But you should do it because you want to, not because you think I want you to.”

“Fuck you, I said."Uh-oh. There's that angry word.”

“Why do you treat me as they do, as though I were exactly what I want to be. Why do we treat people that way?”

“You make me love books and the words inside them, because they talk about you. I know they do, they tell me that I love you, not as cliché as I write it, but in the warmest, deepest, calmest words I could ever read. I love you, like the books say it. And I'll find a better way to say it one day.”

“I love you," I tell him again. "I see that," he laughs, kissing me. "Simple words would have sufficed. You didn't need to knock me down with it." I giggle. "Shut up and kiss me.”