“And even though he enjoyed being around her, he resisted her,because he was supremely aware that he wasn't the old Robert any longer; he was Bit, a piece of whathe'd once been.”

“...He had no breath, no being, but in hers, she was his voice; he did not speak to her. But trembled on her words; She was his sight, For his eye followed hers, and saw hers, Which colored all his objects-he had crease to live within himself; She was his life, The ocean to the river of his thoughts...”

“Even the way he was the only man she’d ever met who both could and dared to hold up his side of a conversation with her.”

“You've gone mad. What's driven you to this nonsense?""You have," he snarled. "You, with your pretty gray eyes and your smile and the way you speak your mind. The sound of your laugh, your tears when something makes you sad." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine anyone else who had ever made him feel the way he did when he was with her. Emptiness looked back at him. There wasn't anyone else. "You're the only woman I've ever… liked.”

“He lowered his head toward her, so she could feel his breath warm againsther skin, their mouths only inches apart. “You’re panting for it, aren’t you,Princess?” he murmured.”

“Don’t cry,nyonda,” he murmured.Phillipa took a deep breath. “What does that mean, anyway? Nyonda?”His green gaze held hers. “It’s Swahili. It means ‘beloved.’” A small smile touched his mouth, and he brushed her cheek again. “You do know I love you, Phillipa. To an alarming degree.”

“Blue eyes held hers. “I have the oddest desire to learn what you want from life,” he continued.”