Tom: If You Love With Kindness, Even

Ireland Is A Land Of Poets And Legends, Of Dreamers And Rebels. All Of These Have Music Woven Through And Around Them. Tunes For Dancing Or For Weeping, For Battle Or For Love.

Summerset, Don't You Ever Sleep?" "it's Lieutenant Dallas. She's--" Roarke Dropped His Briefcase, Grabbed Summerset By The Lapels. "has She Been Hurt? Where Is She?" "a Nightmare. She Was Screaming." Summerset Lost His Usual Composure And Dragged A Hand Over His Hair. "she Won't Cooperate. I Was About To Call Your Doctor. I Left Her In Her Private Suite." As Roarke Pushed Him Aside, Summerset Grabbed His Arm. "roarke, You Should Have Told Me What Had Been Done To Her." Roarke Merely Shook His Head And Kept Going. "i'll Take Care Of Her.

The Doll, Dallas. You Know, Barbie Doll. Jeez, Didn't You Ever Have Dollies?" "dolls Are Like Small Dead People. I Have Enough Dead People, Thanks.

Roarke Cares Very Much For Beth And For Me, And A Few Select Others. But Loves? I'm Not Sure He'd Let Himself Risk Quite That Unstable An Emotion.

The Man Was Useless As Tits On A Bull, But He Didn't Deserve To Die Like That.