Torn Between The Impulse To Stroke His

Forgiveness Is Not A Single Act, But A Matter Of Constant Practice

There Are Things That I Canna Tell You, At Least Not Yet. And I'll Ask Nothing Of Ye That Ye Canna Give Me. But What I Would Ask Of Ye---when You Do Tell Me Something, Let It Be The Truth. And I'll Promise Ye The Same. We Have Nothing Now Between Us, Save---respect, Perhaps. And I Think That Respect Has Maybe Room For Secrets, But Not For Lies. Do Ye Agree?

Jamie," I Said, "how, Exactly, Do You Decide Whether You're Drunk?" Aroused By My Voice, He Swayed Alarmingly To One Side, But Caught Himself On The Edge Of The Mantelpiece. His Eyes Drifted Around The Room, Then Fixed On My Face. For An Instant, They Blazed Clear And Pellucid With Intelligence. "och, Easy, Sassenach, If Ye Can Stand Up, You're Not Drunk." He Let Go Of The Mantelpiece, Took A Step Toward Me, And Crumpled Slowly Onto The Hearth, Eyes Blank, And A Wide, Sweet Smile On His Dreaming Face.

I Do Know It, My Own. Let Me Tell Ye In Your Sleep How Much I Love You. For There's No So Much I Can Be Saying To Ye While Ye Wake, But The Same Poor Words, Again And Again. While Ye Sleep In My Arms, I Can Say Things To Ye That Would Be Daft And Silly Waking, And Your Dreams Will Know The Truth Of Them. Go Back To Sleep, Mo Duinne.

Aye, Well, He'll Be Wed A Long Time," He Said Callously. "do Him No Harm To Keep His Breeches On For One Night. And They Do Say That Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Firmer, No?" "absence," I Said, Dodging The Spoon For A Moment. "and Fonder. If Anything's Growing Firmer From Abstinence, It Wouldn't Be His Heart.