Whatโs that poem again?โ Will, who had been twirling his empty teacup around his fingers, stood up straight and declaimed: โEach spake words of high disdain, And insult to his heartโs best brotherโโ โOh, by the Angel, Will, do be quiet,โ said Charlotte, standing up. โI must go and write a letter to Aloysius Starkweather that drips remorse and pleading. I donโt need you distracting me.โ And, gathering up her skirts, she hurried from the room. โNo appreciation for the arts,โ Will murmured, setting his teacup down.
Cassandra ClareAnd he understands. He understands why people hold hands: heโd always thought it was about possessiveness, saying This is mine. But itโs about maintaining contact. It is about speaking without words. It is about I want you with me and donโt go.
Cassandra Clare... everything seemed to him a uniform shade of gray- even the people! He had been unable to believe it could rain so much in one place, and so unceasingly. The damp had seemed to come up from the floors and into his bones, so that he'd thought he would eventually sprout mold, in the manner of a tree. "You do get used to it," he said "Even if sometimes you feel as if you out to be able to be wrung out like a washrag." p 311
Cassandra Clare