“The moment we pulled up in front of her apartment she had the door open. She turned to me with the long, elegant, mournful face of her Puritan ancestors and held out her hand.'It's been fun,' she said.'Yes,' I said, taking her hand.She was wearing gloves.”

“I SHALL WIN!" She exclaimed. "You'll see! When the smoke of battle clears away I shall be a rainbow again--and, undying name--an altar of fire that you have tried to dash to hell. I shall weave a rose wreath and hang it round your neck. You will call it a yoke of bondage and curse it--no matter. You are afraid of the light I give you. You crouch in the darkness. Come, take my hand, I will lead you." And her valediction, intimating in its restraint whole words of love and grief and passionate regret, was, simply, Miriam.”

“She gazed up at me wide-eyed from the shed floor and bit her lip seductively. Unfortunately it was her top lip so she looked like a piranha.”

“Pippin?""Yes, Dash?""How did we get here?""Aboard this ship?" she teased. "Nate ordered the sails raised and then --""Very funny," he said, cutting her off. "You know what I mean. Here. To this place.""Oh, this place," she said, her face growing solemn. "I've wondered that as well, and all I can think of is that we are like our stars.""How so?""You and I are the two outer stars, and the one between us is everything that keeps us apart."He set his lips together and gazed out at the waves. "Like this ocean," he offered.”

“The thought arrested her and she pulled away from him just to stand there a moment and take in the strangeness of it all. Music drifted down to her then, an odd tinkling sort of music with a rippling rhythmic undercurrent that seemed to tug the melody in another direction altogether, into the depths of a deep churning sea, but beautiful for all that, and so perfect and unexpected. She felt languid and free--all eyes were on her, every man turning to stare--and it came to her that she loved this place, this moment, these people. She could stay here forever, right here, in the gentle sway of the Japanese night.”

“She had a flower tattoo on her wrist; "What does that mean?" he asked her. "Absolutely nothing," she said, "it's just a flower.”

“So she hadn't completely lost her sense of propriety -- and for some reason he was glad of that. Yet even as he looked at her, there was that mischievous sparkle in her eyes again despite her protest.A sparkle. An odd light as incongruous as her red hair.No, he was imagining things. But where was the expected admonishment on propriety, the lecture on proper restraint? Just when he thought he understood the lady, knew how to knot up her corset strings and keep her at sixes and sevens, she'd turned the tide on him.What had she said? You are not a man easily understood.Perhaps she understood him better than he'd given her credit for.”