But no monk am I in my head, God grant me pardon,” he whispered. His body drew closer, velvet and taut elegance. “My confessor has chastised me oft, and bade me study on my sins at length. And so, lady” – he kissed her, the hunger in it sinking down through her like a comet falling – “I have studied.

The flame in her was slow and deep-he was going to incite it with the fire in himself; he was going to make a blaze to burn down cities, to lay waste cathedrals and castles and plain meetinghouses-to make a world where it was only him, and only her, and this bed, and one flesh.

He came down the nave, walking with his graceful stride, dangerous and tear-stained.

The flowers were opulent, full-blown, topple shower petals at a touch. He thought that she might topple that way, falling all at once into his hand, a soft drift of blossom between his fingers. The roses bowed their extravagant heads, nodding, but she was all stiff prim and black, back in her bonnet, so that he could not see her face unless she looked directly at him.

It had not seemed difficult, on a small income, to know what was right to do... Now, with so much, it was daily a decision: what was necessary, what was frivolous... It was so much gray – so little black and white; for a year she’d spent more of her time questioning herself and how she lived in Truth than she had done altogether in her life.

If you’re not a criminal, then what are you doing stealing all these swords and things?” For a moment he was silent. Then he rubbed his chin and said, “There’s no name for it in English.” “Oh, is there not? ‘Burglary’ seems descriptive enough.” “Kyojitsu.” He looked levelly into her eyes, not wavering. “False-true.

But I don’t arrange a very good abduction, I’m afraid. In my haste to seize you and carry you off to the ends of the earth, I seem to have forgotten a few of the important articles. Such as baggage.” “It was a perfect abduction,” she declared. “Pray do not carp about the details.

My books are mine, and yet they are alien to me – as a child belongs to a parent and yet has a life of its own. I can guide and hope and nudge my characters this and that way, but in the end, they become what they become. I don’t always like what they become myself, but like a parent, there are times when I just don’t know what to do about it. Other times when I’m so proud of them I could bust.

To try to let go was to hold more tightly.

She was afraid, too, frightened of what she found herself becoming. She felt that she was transforming into a malevolent black spider, hunched back in her crack, staring out at the world and despising everything and everyone for having what she did not.