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Diaryrings

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2001-07-24 - 3:20 p.m.

"My voice must have sounded subdued and even sulky, but I was having a fight to keep it level and unbetraying. Pride had joined forces with common sense, and the two were flaying me. The phantoms of those idiotic dreams wavered, mockingly, in the dark . . . I don't know quite what I had expected, but . . . that man, and this: the change was too great; it was unnerving.

"I was also making a grim little discovery that frightened me. The dreams might be moonshine, but the fact remained. I was in love with him. It hadn't been the wine and the starlight and all the trappings of romance. It hadn't even been the charm that he'd been so lavish with that night. Now I was undoubtedly sober and it was raining and the charm wasn't turned on . . . and I was still in love with this cold-voiced stranger who was making futile and slightly irritated conversation at me. At least I'd had the sense all along to try and laugh at my own folly, but it was no longer even remotely amusing.

"I bit my lip hard, swallowed another choking morsel of that bitter bread, and wished he would stop asking questions that needed answering. But he was persisting, still in that abrupt tone that made his queries--harmless enough in themselves--sound like an inquisition."

--"Nine Coaches Waiting" by Mary Stewart

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