dJack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack forgot to check if the ice was thick. Emma was still, Emma was late, Emma's brother is now part of the lake. Time has passed, Time has gone, Time brought Jack back wrong. He was solemn, He was brave, He left his coat on Emma's grave. Emma was sad, Emma was scared, But she knew inside that Jack really cared. Jack was lost, Jack had forgot, That he had a story before the plot. Jack had wondered, Jack had fought, Jack had remembered what he had forgot. I hope you dream. I hope you wonder. I hope you have fun because this is done. Keep believing everyone. Jack be fearless, Jack be bold, Jack drowned when he was 17 years old.
I'm trying to decide whether to tell you two to get a room or go barf in the trash can, ' Emma said. 'I'm leaning toward the second choice. You are both getting way too weird. And gross.' Cal barked out a laugh and slid his fingers down my arm to entwine with mine. His touch, and Emma's comments, only made me blush more. Looks like Emma saw Cal lick my face after all. Now that wasn't awkward or anything.
But what I knew in my head stayed up there, swirling about the other ten zillion things I had retained. That knowledge informed my actions, what I did and how I did it. What Emma knew filtered from her head down into her heart and informed who she was-what I have since come to call the Infinite Migration. If my wonderings about life were scientific, bent toward examination and physical discovery, Emma's all leaned toward matters of the heart. While I could understand and explain the physics behind a rainbow, Emma saw the colors. When it came to life, I saw each piece and how they all fit together, and Emma saw the image on the face of the puzzle. And every now and then, she'd walk me through the door into her world and show it to me.
My dearest Emma, " said he, "for dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma - tell me at once. Say 'No, ' if it is to be said." She could really say nothing. "You are silent, " he cried, with great animation; "absolutely silent! at present I ask no more." Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling. "I cannot make speeches, Emma, " he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing. "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.
You've got a lot of responsibility now, ' Jace said to Julian. 'You'll have to make sure Emma winds up with a guy who deserves her.' Julian was strangely white-faced. Maybe he was feeling the effects of the ceremony, Emma thought. It had been strong magic; she still felt it sizzling through her blood like champagne bubbles. But Jules looked as if he'd been slapped. 'What about me?' Emma said, quickly. 'Don't I have to make sure Jules winds up with someone who deserves him?' 'Absolutely. I did it for Alec, Alec did it for me - well, actually, he hated Clary at first, but he came around.' 'I BET you didn't like Magnus much, either, ' said Julian, still with the same odd, stiff look on his face. 'Maybe not, ' said Jace, 'but I never would have said so.' 'Because it would have hurt Alec's feelings?' Emma asked. 'No, ' said Jace, 'because Magnus would have turned me into a hat rack.
Emma: You can demand that Pettibone retain my services, but you cannot make similar demands of the parents of the students. They will not entrust the education of their daughters to a woman who has removed her clothing for an artist, no matter how exalted that artist may be. Pettibone would become a school without students. No that avenue is closed to me now. Nicholas: Women disrobe for men other than their husbands every day. Emma: But they are not on exhibition in the Royal Academy. Nicholas: what of extenuating circumstances? Emma: You make no sense
As he talked, I watched Emma and wondered what is to become of her. She is of an age to be married but she spends her time with people who are so much older than she, that she is never likely to meet a husband. And if she does, I do not know if she will wish to marry. She is too comfortable where she is. Her father is easy to please and she can do as she likes with the household. A husband will have his own views, and Emma is not likely to take to that way of living.
Is this the girl?' Kieran's voice was very different: It sounded like waves sliding up the shore. Like warm water under pale light. It was seductive, with an edge of cold. He looked at Emma as if she were a new kind of flower, one he wasn't sure he liked. 'She's pretty, ' he said. 'I didn't think she'd be pretty. You didn't mention it.' Iarlath shrugged. 'You've always been partial to blondes, ' he said. 'Okay, seriously?' Emma snapped her fingers. 'I am right here. And I was not aware I was being invited to a game of 'Who's the Hottest?'" I wasn't aware you were invited at all, ' said Kieran. His speech had a casual edge, as if he was used to talking to humans. 'Rude, ' said Emma.
Both of you'll just have to believe me. Emma's one of those women who was born with... The thing is, the minute a heterosexual man looks at her, all he can think about is "" well, her mouth, and "" " "Emma?" Torie's own mouth gaped in astonishment. Patrick crossed his legs. "Maybe we're not talking about the same person. British accent? Good appetite? Hums songs from The Lion King when she doesn't think anybody's listening?
Susan Elizabeth Phillips
In the Blue Room, Cora Cash was trying to concentrate on her book. Cora found most novels hard to sympathise with - all those plain governesses - but this one had much to recommend it. The heroine was 'handsome, clever, and rich', rather like Cora herself. Cora knew she was handsome - wasn't she always referred to in the papers as 'the divine Miss Cash'? She was clever - she could speak three languages and could handle calculus. And as to rich, well, she was undoubtedly that. Emma Woodhouse was not rich in the way that she, Cora Cash, was rich. Emma Woodhouse did not lie on a lit e la polonaise once owned by Madame du Barry in a room which was, but for the lingering smell of paint, an exact replica of Marie Antoinette's bedchamber at le petit Trianon. Emma Woodhouse went to dances at the Assembly Rooms, not fancy dress spectaculars in specially built ballrooms. But Emma Woodhouse was motherless which meant, thought Cora, that she was handsome, clever, rich and free.
I don't really like this song, " Emma had said. "You told me it was your favourite." "It's beautiful. But it always makes me sad." "Why, love?" he'd asked gently. "It's about finding each other again. About someone coming home." Emma had lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him earnestly. "It's about losing someone, and having to wait until you're together in heaven." "There's nothing in the lyrics about heaven, " he'd said. "But that's what it means. I can't bear the idea of being separated from you, for a lifetime or a year or even a day. So you mustn't go to heaven without me." "Of course not, " he had whispered. "It wouldn't be heaven without you.
He watched the newly arrived commuters as they stepped into the carriage, pushed their way down the tube, the odours from their damp clothes mingling, giving off varying degrees of mustiness: London grime, or smoke from airless offices. A woman wearing a blue swing coat glanced along the carriage, casting around for an empty seat. Her pale skin, the searching green eyes, reminded him of Emma. Briefly, he felt his breath catch; he stood, clambered back over his neighbour and indicated for her to take his seat. And so his mind stayed with Emma when he knew he should be working out a strategy for telling Dorothy of his news. But Emma was never far away; like the glitter balls in dance halls, she would slowly rotate in his memory, different facets reappearing, as the hues changed in her auburn hair.
Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old. I have seen a great many lists of her drawingup at various times of books that she meant to read regularly through-and very good lists they were-very well chosen, and very neatly arranged-sometimes alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew up when only fourteen-I remember thinking it did her judgment so much credit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made out a very good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of steady reading from Emma. She will never submit to any thing requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding.
Tears are good for you, " Raphael said. When she opened her eyes back up, he knelt down. His large frame seemed to make the room shrink. His face was almost level with hers as his eyes met Emma's. "They are a gift from the Creator to his creation. Tears release endorphins in the mind that help sooth and comfort. They cleanse the eyes and relieve stress, thereby lowering blood pressure and taking strain off of the heart. He created you with tears and nothing he created is bad. Those tears you are holding in are necessary, Emma. Let them fall, let them heal, and let them remind you with each one that you are not alone.
You're Nash's brother. And a grim reaper?" She blinked again, and I readied myself for hysterics, or fear, or laughter. But knowing emma, I should have known better. "So you, what? Kill people? Did you kill me that day in the gym?" She clenched the headrest, her expression an odd mix of anger, awe, and confusion. But there was no disbelief. She'd seen and heard enough of the bizarre following her own temporary death that Tod's admission obviously didn't come as that much of a surprise. Or maybe Nash's Influence was still affecting her a little. "No, " Tod shook his head firmly, but the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. "I had nothing to do with that. I do kill people, then I reap their souls and take them to be recycled. But only people who are on my list." "So, you're not... dangerous?" His pouty grin deepened into something almost predatory, like the Tod I'd first met two months earlier. "Oh, I'm dangerous... " "Tod... " I warned, as Nash punched his brother in the arm, hard enough to actually hurt. "Just not to you, " the reaper finished, shrugging at Emma. "I see you all the time, but you've never seen me, because Kaylee said if I got too close to you, I'd suffer eternity without my balls." "Jeez, Tod!" I shouted, my anger threatening to boil over and scald us all. The reaper leaned closer to Emma and spoke in a stage whisper. "She's not as scary as she thinks she is, but I respect her intent.
Why? What kind of man would pleasure his woman by hurting her.' Angus paced across the path. ''Tis a man's duty, nay, his privilege, to give his woman all the pleasure she can bear. She should be panting and writhing with pleasure.' Emma remained silent, staring at him. Did she not believe him? He walked toward her. 'A real man would take all night if need be to make sure his woman was fully sated. She should be screaming that she canna endure any more.' Emma's eyes widened. 'It should be a man's greatest pleasure to see his woman shuddering in the throes of passion.' She took a deep breath and shifted her weight from one foot to another. He paced back and forth. 'Only when she is begging for him should a man see to his own needs. And he should never, ever harm her.' He stopped in front of her 'Am I totally wrong in this?' 'No, ' she squeaked.