Quite Simply The Book And I Were

His Words Had Tossed The Book That Was Her Life Into The Air And The Pages Had Been Blown Into Disarray, Could Never Be Put Back Together To Tell The Same Story.

Gerry?' Laurel Had To Strain To Hear Thought The Noise On The Other End Of The Line. 'gerry? Where Are You?' 'london. A Phone Booth On Fleet Street.' 'the City Still Has Working Phone Booths?' 'it Would Appear So. Unless This Is The Tardis, In Which Case I'm In Serious Trouble.

Had Any Poet Adequately Described The Wretched Ugliness Of A Loved One Turned Inside Out With Grief?

...she's Understood The Power Of Stories. Their Magical Ability To Refill The Wounded Part Of People.

Cassandra Always Hid When She Read, Though She Never Quite Knew Why. It Was As If She Couldn't Shake The Guilty Suspicion That She Was Being Lazy, That Surrendering Herself So Completely To Something So Enjoyable Must Surely Be Wrong. But Surrender She Did. Let Herself Drop Through The Rabbit Hole And Into A Tale Of Magic And Mystery.