Your Face Is My Heart Sassenach, And

Once You've Chosen A Man, Don't Try To Change Him', I Wrote With More Confidence. 'it Can't Be Done. More Important-don't Let Him Try To Change You.

I Was Crying And Laughing, Snuffing Tears And Blood, Bumping At Him With My Bound Hands, Trying Awkwardly To Thrust Them At Him So That He Could Cut The Rope. He Quit Grappling, And Clutched Me So Hard Against Him That I Yelped In Pain As My Face Was Pressed Against His Plaid. He Was Saying Something Else, Urgently, But I Couldn’t Manage To Translate It. Energy Pulsed Through Him, Hot And Violent, Like The Current In A Live Wire, And I Vaguely Realized That He Was Still Almost Berserk; He Had No English.

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

A Cold Supper, Were You Thinking? I Asked Dubiously. I Was Not, He Said Firmly, I Mean To Light A Roaring Fire In The Kitchen Hearth, Fry Up A Dozen Eggs In Butter, And Eat Them All, Then Lay Ye Down On The Hearth Rug And Roger Ye 'till You - Is That All Right? He Inquired, Noticing My Look. 'til I What? I Asked Fascinated By His Description Of The Evening's Program. 'til Ye Burst Into Flame And Take Me With Ye, I Suppose, He Said, And Stooping, Swooped Me Up Into His Arms And Carried Me Across The Darkened Threshold.

What Underlies Great Science Is What Underlies Great Art, Whether It Is Visual Or Written, And That Is The Ability To Distinguish Patterns Out Of Chaos.