Somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.

We're an Ag college," I explain to them. "Not as good as the one in Yanco but we have livestock." "Cows?" Anson Choi asks, covering his nose. "Pigs, too. And horses. Great for growing tomatoes. The Cadets are wanna-be soldiers. City people. They may know how to street fight but they don't know how to wade through manure. "I'm going to throw up," one of the guys says. "Don't feel too bad," I explain. "Some of our lot did while they were laying out this stuff. Actually, right there where you're standing.

If she’s out here and not locked up in the barracks, I’ll know,” he said. He took a deep breath and whistled. “You share a whistle?” Trevanion said in disbelief. “Do you have a problem with that?” Finnikin asked. “I have a few whistles,” Lucian murmured. “Very confusing sometimes.” “Whistles are meant for combat,” Trevanion said. “Not wooing women. Women do not understand whistles.

Just say up on the hill is the meaning of life and someone knew it and they wanted everyone else to enjoy it. So they put a red vinyl sofa up there.

See them together and you will feel a force that will take your breath away.

Teresa, Teresa. Have we taught you nothing?" Raffy says in an irritated voice. "It's war. You go in and you hunt him down until he realises that he's made a mistake.

Oh God, Frankie, I breathe in rhythm with that man. You think that's not my flesh and blood after all these years?