There Could Be Few Men Whose Love

She Had Only To Open A Door, Nothing But A Door Between The Words,just Large Enough For Her And Farid To Pass Through.

The Heart Was A Weak, Changeable Thing, Bent On Nothing But Love, And There Could Be No More Fatal Mistake Than To Make It Your Master. Reason Must Be In Charge. It Comforted You For The Heart's Foolishness, It Sang Mocking Songs About Love, Derided It As A Whim Of Nature, Transient As Flowers. So Why Did She Still Keep Following Her Heart?

The Sea Always Filled Her With Longing, Though For What She Was Never Sure.

Blue As The Evening Sky, Blue As Cranesbill Flowers, Blue As The Lips Of Drowned Men And The Heart Of A Blaze Burning With Too Hot A Flame. Yes, Sometimes It Was Hot In This World, Too. Hot And Cold, Light And Dark, Terrible And Beautiful, It Was Everything All At Once. It Wasn't True That You Felt Nothing In The Land Of Death. You Felt And Heard And Smelled And Saw, But Your Heart Remained Strangely Calm, As If It Were Resting Before The Dance Began Again. Peace. Was That The Word?

Sometimes Dustfinger Thought Basta's Constant Fear Of Curses And Sudden Disaster Probably Arose From His Terror Of The Darkness Within Himself, Which Made Him Assume That The Rest Of The World Must Be Exactly The Same.