He turned his dark eyes on the girl whom he had dreamed of so often over the previous months. Beside him, at that very moment of existence, at the heart of torrential downpour, she was exquisitely real, and she, too, seemed content to go on sitting there forever.

Henry closed his eyes and imagined the sweet petulant woundedness with which she had stared at him on the beach. He felt a little proud that she could love him.

She felt so much aware of her own beauty it seemed inconceivable that everybody else wouldn't notice the difference too.

She had rarely been near Henry since then, and the sight of him now was like a concentrated dose.

Diana felt she was beginning to understand why, in all those novels she read, the headiest loves were the loves that couldn't be.

Love is all right, as things go, but lovers can be a terrible waste of a girl's time.

Heart-stopping envy is the sincerest form of flattery.