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And if her dreams were to be believed, he was a very, very good kisser.
She felt like she could talk to him for hours, for days and months and years, and never tire of it.
“It is a dangerous thing to unbelieve something only because it frightens you.”
everyone would be willing to pretend it away rather than upset their pleasant lives.
“Fascinating, isn’t it, how often heroic and foolish turn out to be one and the same.
“These things do not happen in dreams, dear girl,” he said, vanishing up to his neck. “They happen only in nightmares.”
She stole glimpses of him again and again, like gathering unsatisfying crumbs in hopes they could be re-formed into a cake.
Something about him seemed crafted for her, and that thought made her face flame, like she was standing too close to a fire.
Timid or arrogant, charming or infuriating, and Catherine was falling, falling, falling.
