Sometimes,' he whispered at last, 'sometimes, I dream I am singing, and I wake from it with my throat aching.' He couldn't see her face, or the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. 'What do you sing?' she whispered back. She heard the shush of the linen pillow as he shook his head. 'No song I've ever heard, or know,' he said softly. 'But I know I'm singing it for you.

Boldness in battle is nothing out of the way... but to face down fear in cold blood is rare in any man.

Sometimes,' he whispered at last, 'sometimes, I dream I am singing, and I wake from it with my throat aching.' He couldn't see her face, or the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. 'What do you sing?' she whispered back. She heard the shush of the linen pillow as he shook his head. 'No song I've ever heard, or know,' he said softly. 'But I know I'm singing it for you.

Overall, the library held a hushed exultation, as though the cherished volumes were all singing soundlessly within their covers.

Scots have long memories, and they're not the most forgiving of people.

You're tearin' my guts out, Claire.

The most irritating thing about cliches, I decided, was how frequently they were true.