Lying on the floor, with the carved panels of the ceiling flickering dimly above, I found myself thinking that I had always heretofore assumed that the tendency of eigh­teenth-century ladies to swoon was due to tight stays; now I rather thought it might be due to the idiocy of eighteenth-century men.

That's not precisely what I had in mind." Jamie, I had found out by accident a few days previously, had never mastered the art of winking one eye. Instead, he blinked solemnly, like a large red owl.

I can bear pain myself, he said softly, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.

If it was a sin for you to choose me . . . then I would go to the Devil himself and bless him for tempting ye to it.

It would ha' been a good deal easier, if ye'd only been a witch.

Not for the first time, I reflected that intimacy and romance are not synonymous.

And if Time is anything akin to God, I suppose that Memory must be the Devil.