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Jem sighed. “Do what you like, William. You always do.”
“Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry,” said Tessa,
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams? —Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Higher Pantheism”
“Goodness,” Tessa said to the back of his head. “If you keep seeing Six-Fingered Nigel like this, he’ll expect you to declare your intentions.” Jem choked on his tea.
Drowning yourself won’t help, she told herself sternly. Now, drowning Will, on the other hand …
The more beautiful its skin is, the more deadly it is. That’s what Will’s like. All that pretty face and whatnot just hides how twisted up and rotten he is on the inside.”
There was nothing challenging in Jem’s tone; he never looked at Will with anything but affection, Tessa thought, no matter how provoking Will was.
How strange to have the power to literally transform yourself into other people, and yet be so unable to put yourself in their place.
