Honey, I Plan To Marry You The

Even When I Look Straight Into The Milky Blue Eyes I Can't Find Myself Any More. When Did I Stop Being Me?

After Sixty-one Years Together, She Simply Clutched My Hand And Exhaled.

Juliet Is One Of Those Rare Novels That Has It All: Lush Prose, Tightly Intertwined Parallel Narratives, Intrigue, And Historical Detail All Set Against A Backdrop Of Looming Danger. Anne Fortier Casts A New Light On One Of History's Greatest Stories Of Passion. I Was Swept Away.

I Scan The Room. Catherine Is Writing Quickly, Her Light Brown Hair Falling Over Her Face. She Is Left-handed, And Because She Writes In Pencil Her Left Arm Is Silver From Wrist To Elbow.

I Used To Think I Preferred Getting Old To The Alternative, But Now I'm Not Sure. Sometimes The Momotony Of Bingo And Sing-alongs And Ancient Dusty People Parked In The Hallway In Wheelchairs Makes Me Long For Death. Particularly When I Rememver That I'm One Of The Ancient Dusty People, Filed Away Like Some Worthless Tchotchke.