Each time that we meet I try to kill you. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. “He’s got good taste, you know. But the orchestra had never had a finer hour, and everyone was aware of it. You are my wife, and I am determined to claim you. Everything I could do! Your father sat up all night. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. “I’m not going to kill you, John. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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