Surely he was imagining this picture. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. ” Her hands fell to her side. “As I love you.
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