‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. “Was I that bad?” He asked. That is what my mother used to call me. ‘You will not believe any of my very clever lies. He hated himself a little for it. ” She said. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. ’ ‘Why must you?’ asked Gerald calmly. ” “Is that so wrong, to want to live forever?” “It is wrong to if the price is murder.
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