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It was an impossible situation, a trick of society as a whole: force women to live at the mercy of whichever man wants them but shame them for anything they might do to get a man to want them.
just the rats in the walls, and mice in the seats, and his own solitary heartbeat.
was Galvanism, Galvini’s electric shocks—there was no other way to describe it—a current of lightning that flowed from his
hand through hers and directly into her pounding heart.
if they were windows into an expanse of calm ocean that went for miles—that made her want to tell him things, to open up and say the things she had never said out loud. Maybe it was because she had never had anyone to say them out loud to.
“Oh, I assure you, Miss Sinnett, I’ve taken you for a lot of things, but a fool was never one of them.”
especially if you put me on a brute like that Beetle—whatever his name was.” “Betelgeuse,” Hazel said,
“One of the brightest stars in the night sky visible to the naked eye, they say.” “And impossible high up, just like the horse.”
“Dead bodies are never going to bite you. They’re never going to do anything to you. It’s living things that hurt you.”
Jack felt the magnetic charge of her skin, could smell the salt of her sweat.
Jack wrapped his arms around Hazel and kissed her as if she were his only source of oxygen.
“Someone should tell you that you’re beautiful every time the sun comes up. Someone should tell you you’re beautiful on Wednesdays. And at teatime. Someone should tell you you’re beautiful on Christmas Day and Christmas Eve and the evening before Christmas Eve, and on Easter. He should tell you on Guy Fawkes Night and on New Year’s, and on the eighth of August, just because.
“Hazel Sinnett, you are the most miraculous creature I have ever come across, and I am going to be
thinking about how beautiful you are until ...
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“Hazel, there’s no hell worse than a world in which I would see you grow old and lose you and then be forced to live another day.” The tears continued silently down Hazel’s cheeks. “You will always be seventeen to me, Hazel Sinnett. You will always be beautiful and headstrong and brilliant. You will be the last face I see when I close my eyes and the first one I imagine when I wake up.”
Hazel stuck her hand through the bars to rest her palm on his heart, feeling the stitches she had sewn at the center of his chest. “My heart is yours, Hazel Sinnett,” Jack said. “Forever. Beating or still.” “Beating or still,” she said.
My beating heart is still yours, the letter said, and I’ll be waiting for you.
