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.

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