“I am madly, ridiculously, passionately in love with you. I don’t care about your past. Your race does nothing to change my feelings. I love you, you stubborn little fool. Is that clear enough for you?”

“He smiled. "I suppose I thought we'd have a madly impractical, terrifyingly modern sort of marriage. One based on love. Not to mention dangerous undertakings and hair's-breadth escapes from burning buildings, high ledges and exploding sewers.""And bickering.""Always that, yes.""Assuming I want to marry at all.""True. I know of no good way of forcing you to do anything.""And you're mad enough to think it could work - one day?"He cupped her face in his hands. His smile was so brilliant it seemed to illuminate the room. "I think it would be heaven."She trembled, then. "You have a very strange idea of heaven.""Kiss me and see.”

“Stop shining your lantern in my face.""It's such a lovely face.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t think the etiquette manuals cover this sort of situation.” He leaned in close, his lips all but grazing her neck, and inhaled. “Mmm. You smell good, too.”She nearly choked. Took a step backwards, until her back met cold stone. “Th-thank you.”“That’s better. May I kiss you?” His finger dipped into her shirt collar, stroking the tender nape of her neck.“I d-don’t th-think that’s a good idea.”“Why not? We’re alone.” His hands were at her waist.Her lungs felt tight and much too small. “Wh-what if somebody comes in?”He considered for a moment. “Well, I suppose they’ll think I fancy grubby little boys.”

“Read as widely and as deeply as you can. You have to be a reader before you can be a writer.”

“It's terrifying, to be on the verge of finally getting what you want.”

“He laughed, then became serious once more. "Mary............" The expression in his eyes set her heart pounding. "Yes?" Twice he began to frame a sentence, and twice his voice seemed to fail him. And she thought she understood. What could he possibly say to her now, when he was on the verge of leaving forever? Even something as simple as asking her to write to him carried a distinct sort of promis, the type of promise he was ten years and a half a world removed from being able to make. She forced a polite smile and held out her hand. "Good luck, James." Regret-and relief-flooded his eyes. he took her hand, cradling it for a long moment. "And to you." It was foolish to linger. She slid her fingers from his grasp, turned, and began to walk away in the direction of the Academy. She'd gone about thirty paces when she heard his voice. "Mary!" She spun about. "What is it?" "Stay out of wardrobes!" She laughed, shook her head, and began to walk again. She was smiling this time.”