Thought. Lumpish. And the word came to me: feckless.
—Pero ¿no te das cuenta de que la noción de la muerte entre nosotros es muy poca cosa, Claire? —susurró. Mis manos se cerraron contra su pecho. No, no pensaba que fuera poca cosa. —Todo el tiempo, cua...
Je suis Prest
Grey shook his head and, wheezing gently, one hand to his bruised ribs, got awkwardly to his feet and hobbled to the wing chair. You could … have helped, he said to Fraser. Ye managed brawly on your o...
When the day shall come, that we do part, he said softly, and turned to look at me, if my last words are not 'I love you'—ye'll ken it was because I didna have time.
People disappear all the time. Ask any policeman. Better yet, ask a journalist. Disappearances are bread-and-butter to journalists.
Tell him I hate him to his guts and the marrow of his bones!
He cupped his heavy balls in one hand, the thumb moving up and down his exigent member in a slow and thoughtful manner. On your knees, a nighean, he said softly. Now.
He felt a moment’s passionate gratitude to her. He’d seen her look at the boy, and knew how she must feel. She’d known about the lad, of course, but seeing the flesh-and-blood proof that her husband h...
Thought that was perhaps how some ghosts were made; where a will and a purpose had survived, heedless of the frail flesh that fell by the wayside, unable to sustain life long enough.
He gave you to me, she said, so low I could hardly hear her. Now I have to give you back to him, Mama.
He had been attacked once, in camp somewhere in Scotland, in the days after Culloden. Someone had come upon him in the dark, and taken him from behind with an arm across his throat. He had thought he...
What is it ye have there, Murtagh?
He smelt strongly of woodsmoke, blood, and unwashed male, but the night chill bit through my thin dress and I was happy enough to lean back against him.
Luceo Non Uro. ‘I shine, not burn,
Not that my watching out was likely to do a lot of good, I thought; every second man on the dock looked like an assassin to me.
Tu ești curajul meu, așa cum eu sunt conștiința ta, mi-a șoptit. Tu ești inima mea, iar eu, compasiunea ta. Singuri, nu suntem întregi. Nu știai asta, englezoaico?
I was dead, my Sassenach – and yet all that time, I loved you.
Juniper, Pennyroyal, Lady’s-vetch, … and the squat
Nothing is lost, Sassenach; only changed. That’s the first law of thermodynamics, I said, wiping my nose. No, he said. That’s faith.
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