It Would Ha' Been A Good Deal

Conflict And Character Are The Heart Of Good Fiction, And Good Mystery Has Both Of Those In Spades.

Time Is A Lot Of The Things People Say That God Is. There's Always Preexisting, And Having No End. There's The Notion Of Being All Powerful-because Nothing Can Stand Against Time, Can It? Not Mountains, Not Armies. And Time Is, Of Course, All-healing. Give Anything Enough Time, And Everything Is Taken Care Of: All Pain Encompassed, All Hardship Erased, All Loss Subsumed. Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust. Remember, Man, That Thou Art Dust; And Unto Dust Thou Shalt Return. And If Time Is Anything Akin To God, I Suppose That Memory Must Be The Devil.

How Did You Keep This By You?" Grey Demanded Abruptly. "you Were Searched To The Skin When You Were Brought Back." The Wide Mouth Curved Slightly In The First Genuine Smile Grey Had Seen. "i Swallowed It," Fraser Said. Grey's Hand Closed Convulsively On The Sapphire. He Opened His Hand And Rather Gingerly Set The Gleaming Blue Thing On The Table By The Chess Piece. "i See," He Said. "i'm Sure You Do, Major," Said Fraser, With A Gravity That Merely Made The Glint Of Amusement In His Eyes More Pronounced. "a Diet Of Rough Parritch Has Its Advantages, Now And Again.

Do You Really Think We'll Ever--" "i Do," He Said With Certainty, Not Letting Me Finish. He Leaned Over And Kissed My Forehead. "i Know It, Sassenach, And So Do You. You Were Meant To Be A Mother, And I Surely Dinna Intend To Let Anyone Else Father Your Children.

Lying On The Floor, With The Carved Panels Of The Ceiling Flickering Dimly Above, I Found Myself Thinking That I Had Always Heretofore Assumed That The Tendency Of Eigh­teenth-century Ladies To Swoon Was Due To Tight Stays; Now I Rather Thought It Might Be Due To The Idiocy Of Eighteenth-century Men.