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IT’S THE LESSON YOUNG GIRLS EVERYWHERE were taught their entire lives—don’t be seduced by the men you meet, protect your virtue—until, of course, their entire lives depended on seduction by the right man. 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.
Be patient, be silent, be beautiful and untouched as an orchid, and then and only then will your reward come: a bell jar to keep you safe.
“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 took Hazel’s hand in his. Hers was cold, almost waxy. White and pale. “Hazel,” he said softly. “You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met in my life. You’re incredible.” “I’m scared,” Hazel said. “Good,” Jack said. “That’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with being scared.”
“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.” He kissed her lips once more, gently, and then pulled away and gazed into her eyes. “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 the day I die.”
“My heart is yours, Hazel Sinnett,” Jack said. “Forever. Beating or still.” “Beating or still,” she said.
