That's Not Precisely What I Had In

Oh, Aye, Sassenach. I Am Your Master . . . And You're Mine. Seems I Canna Possess Your Soul Without Losing My Own.

Sometimes,' He Whispered At Last, 'sometimes, I Dream I Am Singing, And I Wake From It With My Throat Aching.' He Couldn't See Her Face, Or The Tears That Prickled At The Corners Of Her Eyes. 'what Do You Sing?' She Whispered Back. She Heard The Shush Of The Linen Pillow As He Shook His Head. 'no Song I've Ever Heard, Or Know,' He Said Softly. 'but I Know I'm Singing It For You.

But We Are Here, All Of Us. And We're Here Because I Love You, More Than The Life That Was Mine. Because I Believed You Loved Me The Same Way...will You Tell Me That's Not True? No, He Said After A Moment, So Softly I Could Barely Hear Him. His Hand Tightened Harder On Mine. No, I Willna Tell Ye That. Not Ever, Claire.

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.

Has He Come Armed, Then?” She Asked Anxiously. “has He Brought A Pistol Or A Sword?” Ian Shook His Head, His Dark Hair Lifting Wildly In The Wind. “oh, No, Mam!” He Said. “it’s Worse. He’s Brought A Lawyer!