Oh Alexander," she said, "what do you want from me..." "Everything!" he whispered fiercely.

And that's my point: all great things worth having require great sacrifice worth giving.

I love you breathlessly, my amazing man.

A bus came. The soldier turned away from her and walked toward it. Tatiana watched him. Even his walk was from another world; the step was too sure, the stride too long, yet somehow it all seemed right, looked right, felt right. It was like stumbling on a book you thought you had lost. Ah, yes, there it is.

Where was he, her Alexander, of once? Was he truly gone? The Alexander of the Summer Garden, of their first Lazarevo days, of the hat in his hands, white toothed, peaceful, laughing, languid, stunning Alexander, had he been left far behind? Well, Tatiana supposed that was only right. For Alexander believed his Tatiana of once was gone, too. The swimming child Tatiana of the Luga, of the Neva, of the River Kama. Perhaps on the surface they were still in their twenties, but their hearts were old.

He is just protective over me-” “Not protective, Tania. Consumed.

When Tatiana looked up from her ice cream, she saw a soldier staring at her from across the street.