“I never hated you. My anger was never with you, but with the little hell my heart had put me in. The anger always passed. I never regretted loving you. If I had gone to my grave never kissing you or touching you, I still would not have thought it a wasted love.”

“I never hated you. My anger was never with you, but with the little hell my heart had put me in. The anger always passed. I never regretted loving you. If I had gone to my grave never kissing you or touching you, I still would not have thought it a wasted love.”

“Diane St. John had once said he looked as if he would speak in poetry, should he ever deign to speak at all.”

“All the same, we should excuse ourselves," Vergil said. "Although I am wondering if the meeting was already well concluded when we intruded." He gave Nathaniel a deep look on the last sentence that made Charlotte's caution prickle. She saw the big brother in him, thinking that a private chat with this man was in order.Bianca still had not picked up the cue. "You are making plans regarding the petitions?""I trust that a petition came up at some point in the visit," Vergil said dryly. "Correct, Knightridge?"Charlotte wanted to die. "Indeed one did," she said. "Mr. Knightridge is proving to be a great help in the cause."Bianca beamed. "I always knew that the two of you would find common ground in something.""Yes, we have discovered that we think alike in one small area," Nathaniel agreed.Charlotte wanted to hit him."Indeed," Vergil muttered.”

“Forgive me. It was stupid of me to think you might need company, when clearly all you required was that decanter.”“It was not stupid. It was very kind. Quite soft, actually. A very warm, womanly gesture. I am touched.” He smiled softly. “However, if you truly want to help, if you really want to distract me, there are better ways. When I saw that dress, I dared hope you had realized that.”

“A garden did not need people in order to be alive and natural. The flowers might have died, and the last leaves might be falling, but the space was still redolent with the odors of life. It contained a thousand reassurances that no matter what one person’s strife, the seasons continued their cycle.”

“Só a quero porque não a posso ter.Como um rapaz imberbe”