And therein lies the void between the sexes. Women want long looks and deep discussions, and men want to ride and shoot.” Captain Bryant nodded. “I know I do. Can we lay aside novels for a few hours and go shoot something?

Her voice sounding young and nearly giddy in her ears, she asked, “Are you certain, sir, you ought to kiss a housemaid?” No answering chuckle. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” he whispered, his breath tickling her upper lip with each syllable.

Words are important to me. I listen to each one, weigh and measure it. If I cannot trust your words, how can I trust you?

One might open the book idly, but one never knows what treasures one might find.

Whenever you give any living creature cause to depend on you, be careful on no account to disappoint it.

How pleasant to escape for an hour or two into the company of a treasured friend.

Yet never have I longed to kiss any woman’s hands as I long to kiss these.

How long had it had been since she’d thought back on the evenings around the fire, number games at the kitchen table, or listening to her father sing? Too long. Yes, there had been bad times. And she had tallied them like figures in a column, not remembering to factor in the good. She had doctored the books.

And what did you never get to do, Emma Smallwood?” he asked lightly, brushing the tears from her face. “Nothing that really matters, in hindsight.” She shrugged. “Though I would have liked to travel. And perhaps encourage Aunt Jane to live her life. Live enough for the both of us.” “No ordinary dreams? Of marriage, perhaps? A family?” She ducked her head. “Perhaps.” Tears filled her eyes once more. He cupped her face in both of his hands and kissed her again.

Why does anyone write anything? To make known and to be known.