No, she wasn't losing language. She was choking on it.

...and he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, little by little by little.

Approval is overrated...Approval and disapproval alike satisfy those who deliver it more than those who receive it. I don't care for approval, and I don't mind doing without.

It’s the place of the story, beginning here, in the meadow of late summer flowers, thriving before the Atlantic storms drive wet and winter upon them all.

She wasn't afraid of doing good or of resisting evil. She was merely afraid she might not be able to tell the difference.

Are you the dart?" he said. "Are you the knife? The fuse?" She said (though he wasn't convinced): "My deane, my poppet, I am too green to walk into a public place and do something bad.

Galinda didn't often stop to consider whether she believed in what she said or not; the whole point of conversations was flow.