All of France’s wine country was nothing but ash now, which meant the stain on her blouse was probably worth a few thousand dollars on the black market. She had never worn anything so expensive.
She loped jaggedly off course. No, that wasn’t right; for her to wander off course, she needed to have a course, and she had no idea where she was going.
The beard was actually less Dumbledore, more Hemingway, but the eyes behind the lenses of his glasses were a brilliant shade of blue that naturally suggested a man who could cast runes and speak to trees.
“ … Time is short, Tom.” “Isn’t it always?”
“You’ve beaten it?” Harper asked. “Better,” Father Storey said. “We’ve made friends with it.”
I want us to have matching pajamas. That’s how crazy I am for you.