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…I wanted to show that the mother was the heroine as soon as possible. I'm tired of love-sick girls and runaway wives. We'll prove that there's romance in old women also. ↗
By all means, let's show your father what a bad influence I've been on his little girl.” "He won't think that at all. He's always adored you for having rescued his fallen daughter.” "And his daughter? What does she think about it?” "She thinks that ..." Lucy paused and cast a swift glance over her head, "that you have been very remiss in failing to notice that she is standing right underneath a sprig of mistletoe." His laughter was soft and lazy, eliciting a delicious chill from the pit of her stomach. While he stared into her eyes, he reached up, plucked the mistletoe from the top of the doorframe, and slipped the small green sprig into his pocket. "For later," he said, and smiled at her. ↗
They had known each other intimately, as husband and wife, countless times, He had held her with tenderness and passion, but never with such rampant wildness. ↗
He whispered her name as if it were a love-word, and his mouth drifted through the tear tracks on her face. They would not yield their secrets. Oh, but love . . . Love was unvoiced and undenied. As they fitted together into one being, each movement was a new discovery, each second an eternity of emotion. Let it last, her heart beseeched the darkness silently. Let it last forever. ↗
You could hold me and I could hold you. And it would be so peaceful. Completely peaceful. Like the feeling of sleep, but awake in it together. ↗
Islamo-Fascism is NOT the result of economic deprivation or legitimate blowback because of Western foreign policies or even heinous drone attacks on Muslim civilians. All non-Muslims as Infidels, regardless of their faith or lack of it, are in an ideological war with a demonized, freedom-hating Muslim death-cult rooted in their accurate interpretation of the Qur'an! ↗
Boys don't gush, so I can stand it. The last time I let in a party of girls, one fell into my arms and said, "Darling, love me!" I wanted to shake her,' answered Mrs. Jo, wiping her pen with energy. ↗
…what splendid dreams young people build upon a word, and how bitter is the pain when the bright bubbles burst. ↗
It was unsettling, Laurel thought, suppressing a shiver, how quickly a person's presence could be erased, how easily civilization gave way to wilderness. ↗
