A verbal promise behind closed doors, even a statement written on paper-these could easily evaporate . . . .

ll I can think about, every day, every waking minute since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am.

He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick.

Oh, the fun we two have together.

Don't let him take you from me.

Don't want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!

He could have had his choice of any woman in the district. And he chose solitude. Not solitude – that sounds too peaceful. More like solitary confinement.