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August 4 - August 11, 2024
Winter was settling in on the East Coast, barely giving autumn much of a chance to show up to the party.
Perhaps it would be better to have Hulda out of the house so she could stop reminding him of his unwanted responsibilities.
She shouldnt nag him. This is bad.
“Merritt.” She frowned. “You’ll never gain control of your power if you don’t ask for help. I don’t know any communionists who can step in. And there’s the matter of your family.” Pressing his lips together, Merritt released her hand and leaned back in his chair, balancing on its back legs. Hulda hated it when he did that, but she made no comment.
She is mothering him.
no amount of rest would cure the ailment coiled in his belly like a snake, its fangs sunk in deep and slowly seeping venom.
The writing!
His British accent was both crisp and warm, which had Hulda thinking of peach cobbler.
Perhaps aging was a thing of the body and not the soul.
you have to decide what you want to do with the time you have left.”
My heartbeat keeps me company.
Why should I be sad when so much is good?
“We should be careful with public displays.” She folded her arms.
I mean they're Victorians, but I think they live in a liberal fictional world. She is full of shame. She needs to drop it if she wants a healthy relationship.
She rolled her eyes.
She needs to stop this... So annoying.
Though Hulda was no longer working at Whimbrel House in any official capacity, she departed early to ready Fletcher’s room, ignoring Merritt’s insistence that they could manage. She was awfully stringent about her method of tucking sheets.
She needs to chill and step out of her masculine.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. Her tongue died in her mouth. Heat filled her cheeks again—if she could have one wish, it would be to blush less! At least it made her match the draperies. She cleared her throat as quietly as she could manage. “A good attempt at changing the subject, but you’ll have to do better.” He blinked. “Do better?” She adjusted her glasses. “Something more believable, perhaps.”
She communicates her low self-worth and neediness for reassurance which in real life is a turnoff for any man. It's not in any man's nature to stay with a woman who tells him that she is not enough in some way. It's a big repellent.
Shes being annoying.
his magic remained indefinitely tied to his soul.
The bright, autumnal sun reflected off the frost coating the island, making it hurt his eyes to look so far.
The writing!
No man had ever bothered to court her before.
Lol
she glanced over Merritt’s shoulder to the other skaters. Several of them were couples, gliding closely together, leaning inward to converse. Holding hands. Heaven knew she wanted that. She’d wanted that all her life.
Leaning close so their foreheads brushed, he said, “I miss you.” Her pulse quickened. She couldn’t imagine any man, let alone this man, saying such words sincerely. Not to her. Yet here they were, and a silly sliver of herself wondered if this was all a strange ruse. Like Merritt might erupt with laughter at any moment, and someone—Mr. Portendorfer, perhaps—might burst from one of the quiet rooms and say, We got you good, Miss Larkin!
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked with wooden legs, his knees hinges in need of oil.
Truthfully, if there was a way to pluck her brain from her skull and deposit it elsewhere for safekeeping, she’d do it. She’d analyzed and reanalyzed every single moment of that exchange, to the point where her mind was beginning to fester with insanity. What if she messed things up? What if Merritt wouldn’t see her anymore after this? What if she never got another chance?
Lol so f him then. This is why inner security is crucial.
His throat squeezed shut. He couldn’t finish the sentence without emotion leaking into it. The two men stood before the dark window for another minute before Fletcher murmured, “You’ve been holding it in for thirteen years. Let it go.”
He doesnt have to see them to let go of past pain. Seeing them is not the goal. Healing is. He can sti let go and even forgive without ever seeing them. Its unnessessary. It can be retraumatizing.
“I would appreciate it if you could tell me . . . how you wish for us to proceed with this . . . that is, what you would like me to do. I want to support you, Merritt.”
This is really good. She is asking what he needs. This is communication
Gifford arrived bright and early the following morning to torment Merritt with more essays on magic. One of which had been written in the 1400s. He wore a suit that looked like it had come from the same era, though it was in good repair, and his hair was oil slicked to one side.
Lol
the saddest realization struck her. Did Merritt usually spend Christmas alone?
We need to stop labelling people who spend Christmas alone as sad. This is conditioning.
“Do you find all those layers necessary?”
Lol women wore so much clothes to protect themselves from men becuse mwn were not self aware then
The dog dropped a large piece of paper on the ground. It was wrinkled and dirty and had bite marks in it.
Aw puppies are so messy and cute
That was a nice thing about writing—when someone read it, they had no idea how long the author had taken to compose it, or how many times he’d discarded something terrible and replaced it with the right phrase.
“Well, I’m very fond of you, as you know. And we’re both already in our thirties . . . past time to settle down, really. I’ll have another work published next year, get the rest of my advance, and Mr. McFarland wants a series, which is a good outlook, career-wise. I’d like to have you around . . . I want to be close—”
Lol this is a bad proposal
Grabbing Hulda’s waist, he spun her around, eliciting a shriek. “Marry me, Hulda Larkin. Here or in Boston. Now or next year. Just say you’ll marry me.” Her response was a delighted laugh and a kiss, which was good enough for him.
