Sometimes One Must Choose Whether To Be

I Love You So Much, So Incredibly Much," He Went On, "and I Forget When You're Close To Me, I Forget Who You Are. I Forget That You're Jem's. I'd Have To Be The Worst Sort Of Person To Think What I'm Thinking Right Now. But I Am Thinking It.

Clary Closed Her Eyes. Remembering The Way Jace Had Looked At Her The Night She'd Freed Ithuriel, She Couldn't Help But Imagine The Way He'd Look At Her Now If He Saw Her Trying To Lie Down To Die On The Sand Beside Him. He Wouldn't Be Touched, Wouldn't Think It Was A Beautiful Gesture. He'd Be Angry At Her For Giving Up. He'd Be So--disappointed.

What’s That Poem Again?” Will, Who Had Been Twirling His Empty Teacup Around His Fingers, Stood Up Straight And Declaimed: “each Spake Words Of High Disdain, And Insult To His Heart’s Best Brother—” “oh, By The Angel, Will, Do Be Quiet,” Said Charlotte, Standing Up. “i Must Go And Write A Letter To Aloysius Starkweather That Drips Remorse And Pleading. I Don’t Need You Distracting Me.” And, Gathering Up Her Skirts, She Hurried From The Room. “no Appreciation For The Arts,” Will Murmured, Setting His Teacup Down.

History Gets Written By The Winners.

She Gritted Her Teeth. She Was Here With Sebastian, On Her Way To See A Powerful Warlock, And Mentally She Was Maundering On About The Way Jace Smelled.