Effy Quotes

Orange? Like Effie's hair?" I say. "A bit more muted," he says. "More like sunset.

I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door. Effie's calling me to dinner. Good. I'm starving.

She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath, and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it's not me, that it's not me, that it's not me. Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it's not me. It's Primrose Everdeen.

Hey, Effie, watch this!" says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean whit his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, "We miss you, Effie!

Different people were good at different things, Lena mused. Lena was good at writing thank-you notes, for instance, and Effie was good at being happy.

It’s time for the drawing. Effie Trinket says as she always does, “Ladies first!” and crosses to the glass ball with the girls’ names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I’m feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it’s not me, that it’s not me, that it’s not me.

It was an eternal feeling, this sense of being unwelcome. No matter where she was, Effy was always afraid she was not wanted.

They're betting on how long I'll live!" I burst out. "They're not my friends!" "Well, try and pretend!" snaps Effie. Then she composes herself and beams at me. "See, like this. I'm smiling at you even though you're aggravating me.

Brace yourself , Effie." "Jesus Ch-" A grunt cut off the swearing. Wrath poked his head out of the window and whispered , "You're supposed to be a good Catholic. Isn't that blasphemy ?" Butch's tone was like someone had pissed out a fire on his bed. " You just threw half a car at me with nothing but a quote from Mrs. fucking Doubtfire.

Effy found herself half in love with the Fairy King sometimes, too. The tender belly of his cruelty made her heart flutter. There was an intimacy to all violence, she supposed. The better you knew someone, the more terribly you could hurt them.

Effy hated that she couldn’t tell right from wrong, safe from unsafe. Her fear had transfigured the entire world. Looking at anything was like trying to glimpse a reflection in a broken mirror, all of it warped and shattered and strange.

I wish I had fought.” Effy surprised herself by saying it. The words had leaped out of her throat, unbidden. “I know I beat him in the end, but for so many years all I could do was run and hide. I just sat there and let the water pour in around me. I didn’t know that I could fight back. I didn’t know how to do anything but wait to drown.” “Oh no, Effy. That’s not what I meant at all. You don’t have to take up a sword. Survival is bravery, too.

Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that," says Effie grimly. "But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary." Although lacking in many departments, Effie Trinket has a certain determination I have to admire.

I am not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have given me credit for being.

I wonder if Effie will still be wearing that silly pink wig, or is she'll be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victor Tour.

Let the games begin!

We love you Effie!

You don’t see yourself very clearly, Effy.” Preston shifted in his seat so that they were facing one another. “Challenging me isn’t pestering. I’m not always right. Sometimes I deserve to be challenged. And changing your mind isn’t foolish. It just means you’ve learned something new. Everyone changes their mind sometimes, as they should, or else they’re just, I don’t know, stubborn and ignorant. Moving water is healthy; stagnant water is sickly. Tainted.

We'll earn it all back today," I say, and we both plow into our plates. Even cold, it's one of the things I've ever tasted. I abandon my fork and scrape up the last dabs of gravy with my fingers. "I can feel Effie trinket shuddering at my manners." "Hey, Effie, watch this!" says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss to her in general, and calls, "We miss you, Effie!" I cover his hand with my mouth. But I am laughing. "Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave." He grabs my hand away."What do I care. I've got you to protect me now," says Peeta, pulling me to him. "Come on," I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets another kiss.

The walls of this elevator are made of crystal so that you can watch the people on the ground floor shrink to ants as you shoot up into the air. It's exhilarating and I'm tempted to ask Effie Trinket if we can ride it again, but somehow that seems childish.

That was Mahogany!!

Love, love, love. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing.

Hey, look at this!" He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls," he says earnestly to Finnick. "No, it doesn't," says Finnick dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that's how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressured into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain.

Don't ask me any questions right now. I'm grumpy and I'll probablly make fun of you. -Effie Kaligaris

Ich liebe dich ja… wie heißt es doch, wenn man einen Zweig abbricht und die Blätter abreißt? Von Herzen, mit Schmerzen, über alle Maßen.

A faerie told me that true love's kiss could wake Miss Buckley," Effie told him. "I cannot think of any truer or more unconditional love than that of a dog.

I wanted you, too. For so long. It was terrible. Sometimes I could barely eat- sorry, I know that sounds like the strangest thing. But for days I didn't feel hungry at all. I was... occupied. You took away all the other wanting from me.

Hit ain't sacrilege. Miss Effie Belle says when she cain't think what to have for dinner, she asts God and right off He gives her an idea. To my thinkin', thet's sacrilege." Miss Love really laughed. "There's not a woman in the world who hasn't prayed what to cook for dinner, Rucker!

Wir müssen verführerisch sein, sonst sind wir gar nichts.

Chins up smiles on - Effie Trinket

I just wanted to tell you,' he said, 'when this is over, I'll take care of you, too. If you want me to.' Effy closed her eyes, and even the blackness there behind them was bright with false stars. 'I do.

You broke up with him," a combination Effie-Carmen voice in her head reminded her. "But that didn't mean you were allowed to stop loving me," she felt like saying to him.

You can take anything if you want it enough.

Finally I said, my words soft, “How did you get so wise, Effie?” “I’ve survived seventy-seven years on this planet,” she answered wryly, “and by making the right choices I even managed to live for most of them.

At least, you two have decent manners," says Effie as we're finishing the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion." ... My mother taught Prim and me to eat properly, so yes, I can handle a fork and knife. But I hate Effie Trinket's comment so much I make a point of eating the rest of my meal with my fingers. Then I wipe my hands on the tablecloth. This makes her purse her lips tightly together.

I don't have a talent, unless you count hunting illegally, which they don't. Or maybe singing, which I wouldn't do for the Capitol in a million years. My mother tried to interest me in a variety of suitable alternatives from a list Effie Trinket sent her. Cooking, flower arranging, playing the flute. None of them took, although Prim had a knack for all three. Finally Cinna stepped in and offered to help me develop my passion for designing clothes, which really required development since it was non-existent.

Midnight was a fairy-tale thing. She didn't know if Preston had been thinking about that when he promised it, but Effy was remembering all the curses that turned princesses back to peasant girls as soon as the bell struck twelve. Why was it always girls whose forms could not be trusted? Everything could be taken away from them in an instant.

Be safe. Be smart. Be sweet.' 'All three? That's a lot to ask.

It saved me in more ways than I can count. Because I knew no matter how afraid I felt, I wasn't truly alone. Angharad's eyes were shining now, too. "That's all I wanted, you know," she said. "When I was young-when I was your age. I wanted just one girl, only one, to read my book and feel that she was understood, and I would be understood in return. Writing that book was like shining a beacon from a lighthouse, I suppose. Are there any ships on the horizon? Will they signal back to me? I never got the chance to know. My husband's name was all over it, and his was the only ship I could see." "I saw it," Effy whispered. "I see it. And it saved me.

Nothing's ever perfect, you know?

It’s all right,” she said. That was easy to say, too. In fact, Effy realized, she could tell the whole story as if it had happened to someone else, and it would be completely painless

Some things are constant,' Effy said. 'They must be. I think that's why so many poets write about the sea.' 'Maybe the idea of constancy is what's actually terrifying. Fear of the sea is fear of the eternal- because how can you win against something so enduring. So vast and so deep.

-the ephemerality of things is what gives them meaning. That things are only beautiful because they don't last. Full moons, flowers in bloom, you. But if any of that is evidence, I think it must be true.

Effy was no great designer, but she was an excellent escape artist. She was always chipping away at the architecture of her life until there was a crack big enough to slip through. Whenever she was faced with danger, her mind manifested a secret doorway, a hole in the floorboards, somewhere she could hide or run to.

We did something very simple," Effie says. "Yes, and what was that?" Effie Mumford stares off the porch into the night sky. The first stars of the evening are quietly arriving, and Billy, following her gaze, listens as the small girl speaks. "We allowed ourselves, for one brief moment, to believe in something we could not see.

The people I should love I hate.

Time to say thank you and farewell! trills Effie at my elbow. It’s one of those moments when I just love her compulsive punctuality. We collect Cinna and Portia, and she escorts us around to say good-bye to important people, then herds us to the door.

There’s no use gettin’ angry,” Effie’s mother used to chide her. “It’ll just get you into trouble. You can think all of the angry thoughts you want, but they’ve got to stay inside your head!

Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, ‘Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!’” Effie beams at us so brilliantly that we have no choice but to respond

The truth was very costly at times. How terrible, to navigate the world without a story to comfort you.

Fear and pain could be endured if you knew that eventually, they would end.

I don't mind being stared at, but not in that pitchforks-and-torches way.

This is the problem with going back home and hanging out with your family. Everything seizes up in a time warp where we're all the most unflattering versions of ourselves.

Alles, was uns Freude machen soll, ist an Zeit und Umstände gebunden, und was uns heute noch beglückt, ist morgen wertlos.

Aging, Effy realized, was the opposite of alchemy. What was now silver had once been gold.

You need love to have a happy marriage. Life will limp along whether you are happy or sad, but love makes everything better. Fills all the cracks that will swallow you up if you are miserable.

Just then, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. “I miss supper?” he says in a slurred voice. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in the mess. “So laugh away!” says Effie Trinket.

no tenga ni idea de cuál es tu color favorito? —Verde —respondo, esbozando poco a poco una sonrisa—. ¿Y el tuyo? —Naranja. —¿Naranja? ¿Como el pelo de Effie? —Un poco más apagado. Más como... una puesta de sol.

Ryan’s grin disappeared and he leaned in to whisper in my ear. ‘If I were you, I’d go home and check on Effie as soon as you can. Because I’d hate to think what she might have done after I finished with her this afternoon.

I wish I had fought.” Effy surprised herself by saying it. The words had leaped out of her throat, unbidden. “I know I beat him in the end, but for so many years all I could do was run and hide. I just sat there and let the water pour in around me. I didn’t know that I could fight back. I didn’t know how to do anything but wait to drown.” “Oh no, Effy. That’s not what I meant at all. You don’t have to take up a sword. Survival is bravery, too.

Grandma kept turning around in the front seat of their old Fiat saying, "Look at you girls! On, Lena, you are a beauty!" Lena seriously wished she would stop saying that, because it was irritating, and besides, how was cranky Effie supposed to feel?

At least, you two have decent manners,” says Effie as we’re finishing the main course. “The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion.” The pair last year were two kids from the Seam who’d never, not one day of their lives, had enough to eat.

Months ago, he'd told Effie, grandmother to his eldest brother's wife, that he was too busy to find a woman. He went on to brag he was quite happy being alone. That the only way he'd even consider a woman was if she dropped from the feckin' sky.He groaned and downed his first cup of coffee. Him and his big whisky loosened tongue.

I meant what I told you before,' he said softly. 'I want to take care of you. When we get back to Caer-Isel, the horrible professors and the horrible students... I never want you to have to weather it all alone again.' Effy's throat tightened. 'They're cruel. They'll be cruel to you, too.' 'It doesn't matter. I'm not afraid to care about you, Effy.

Everyone’s experience is unique to them. Don’t minimize it.

That is mahogany!

Effie rapping on my door.

Well, try and pretend!” snaps Effie. Then she composes herself and beams at me. “See, like this. I’m smiling at you even though you’re aggravating me.

Is the person who won in twenty-five in here?” I ask. “I don’t think so. Whoever it was must be dead by now, and Effie only sent me victors we might have to face.

Man ist nicht bloß ein einzelner Mensch, man gehört einem Ganzen an, und auf das Ganze haben wir beständig Rücksicht zu nehmen, wir sind durchaus abhängig von ihm. (S.199)

I want you,” Heath said. You have me, Effie thought but didn’t say aloud. You will always have me.

Haunt me,” he whispered. “Make me crazy for the rest of my life. But please, Effie. Don’t leave me. Just let me love you.

So what, then? You’re a ghost? Because that’s how it feels to me sometimes, Effie. You’re a fucking ghost, and all you do is haunt me.

Because this woman sobbed in the way that all women sob, whether they do it outwardly or whether they keep it silently locked up inside themselves. They sob because they realise, one day, that they were born on a planet of men, and that short of death or spinsterhood they can never escape. Effie's Aunt Rachel used to say, 'Even the slaves could run away, but where can women go?

Anna was used to hearing the word duty, only when Aunt said it the word had the lash of a whip about it, a way to control and restrain. Effie’s version was an unlocking, filled with a feverish freedom.

life to save mine . . . but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What’s yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie’s hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says. “More like . . . sunset.

She and Effie were already putting on their turtle-and-hare show. Everyone paid lots of attention to Lena at first, because she was striking to look at, but within a few hours or days, they always fully committed their attentions to exuberant, affectionate Effie. Lena felt Effie deserved it. Lena was an introvert. She knew she had trouble connecting with people. She always felt like her looks were fake bait, seeming to offer a bridge to people, which she couldn’t easily cross.

I get a glimpse of the blond braid down her back. Then, as she yanks off her coat to cover a wailing child, I notice the duck tail formed by her untucked shirt. I have the same reaction I did the day Effie Trinket called her name at the reaping.

Aber man lebt doch nicht bloß in einer Welt, um schwach und zärtlich zu sein und alles mit Nachsicht zu behandeln, was gegen Gesetz und Gebot ist und was die Menschen verurteilen und, vorläufig wenigstens, auch noch - mit Recht verurteilen. (S.234)

People are complicated, and they hurt each other. Effie Linton had known this for a long time, just as she knew that sometimes those wounds were inflicted deliberately, over and over, and not with fists or weapons. Sometimes, they did it with love.

Ye talk Bibby Cee,” explained Effie. “I talk Bibby Cee!” asked Bel in bewilderment. “Ugha,” said Effie. (By this time Bel had discovered that “Ugha” meant yes. When she asked Effie to peel the potatoes Effie said “Ugha” and peeled them forthwith). The mystery was intriguing. Bel puzzled over it all morning and finally asked Rhoda about it. “Effie says I talk Bibby Cee,” said Bel. “She says that’s why she can understand me.” “Oh yes,” said Rhoda. “They’ve got a wireless. They listen in every evening.” “B.B.C.!” exclaimed Bel. “How silly of me!

She threaded it into the music and found the song was different to the one she'd practised. What was coming out of her was new, painful to the touch, as if her fingers were leaving their usual bloodstains on the keys: she was locked in a dark cupboard; watching a picture of her mother curling in the flames of a fire; falling asleep, one hand in Effie's; Attis was reaching out to touch her neck; breaking up pianos in his forge, white keys scattered like bones; there was a small white key she wanted but could not have; a door that was locked, forever.

Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, and falls into the third chair. He’s drunk. Very. The crowd responds with its token applause, but he’s confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off. The mayor looks distressed. Since all of this is being televised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem, and he knows it. He quickly tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket. Bright

Elimde değil, sadece tek bir babam olduğunu hissediyorum", dedi gözlerinde yaşlar biriken Effi, hiç düşünmeden. Hayallerimde, onun bir köşesinde oturduğu, benim de ona göz kulak olup elimden geleni yaptığım küçük bir ev vardı hep, başka türlüsünü hayal edemem. Bir leydi olarak yetiştirilmedim ben, bundan sonra da olamam. Elleriyle çalışan işçileri seviyorum, onların nevalelerini, onların adetlerini... Üstelik, diye ekledigözlerinden yaşlar dökülürken, tutkulu bir şekilde, böyle çalışan biriyle, babamı da yanımıza alıp birlikte onunla yaşamak üzere sözlendik.

Isn’t it strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine . . . but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What’s yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie’s hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says. “More like . . . sunset.

Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, ‘Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!’” Effie beams at us so brilliantly that we have no choice but to respond enthusiastically to her cleverness even though it’s wrong.

mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious. He’s disgusting, but I’m grateful. With every camera gleefully trained on him, I have just enough time to release the small, choked sound in my throat and compose myself. I put my hands behind my back and stare into the distance. I can see the hills I climbed this morning with Gale. For a moment, I yearn for something . . . the idea of us leaving the district . . . making our way in the woods . . . but I know I was right about not running off. Because who else would have volunteered for Prim? Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, and Effie Trinket is trying to get the ball rolling again. “What an

Choć kolacja miała być prywatna i nieoficjalna, Effie Król podeszła do niej z całą powagą. Zaczęła swoje przygotowania od bólu głowy, potem przeszła do roztrzęsienia, a dalej płynnie do organizacji przedsięwzięcia o militarnej precyzji i rozmachu. Po drodze zastraszyła kucharzy i gorączkowo sprawdzała na przykład, jakiej łyżki używa się do jakiej zupy.

I feel my skin growing warm. But it isn’t the fact that Gussy told Effie about Eva, about everything that happened, but rather that someone would see beauty in the story. The idea that someone could hear about what happened all those years ago and not be disgusted, horrified, by all the tragedies that followed, that someone could find a sliver of the goodness, the beauty, I cling to is almost more than I can handle.

The point is that two of us are coming home from the Capitol. One mentor and one victor,” says Peeta. “Effie’s sending me recordings of all the living victors. We’re going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We’re going to put on weight and get strong. We’re going to start acting like Careers. And one of us is going to be victor again whether you two like it or not!” He sweeps out of the room, slamming the front door.

Ignoring me, she looked up at the pigeons sitting on the windowsills, which this year were so caked with droppings that they looked quite disgusting. The pigeons were a big problem at Wolfsegg; year in, year out, they sat on the buildings in their hundreds and ruined them with their droppings. I have always detested pigeons. Looking up at the pigeons on the windowsills, I told Caecilia that I had a good mind to poison them, as these filthy creatures were ruining the buildings, and moreover there was hardly anything I found as unpleasant as their cooing. Even as a child I had hated the cooing of pigeons. The pigeon problem had been with us for centuries and never been solved; it had been discussed at length and the pigeons had constantly been cursed, but no solution had been found. [i]I've always hated pigeons[/i], I told Caecilia, and started to count them. On one windowsill there were thirteen sitting close together in their own filth. The maids ought at least to clean the droppings off the windowsills, I told Caecilia, amazed that they had not been removed before the wedding. Everything else had been cleaned, but not the windowsills. This had not struck me a week earlier. Caecilia did not respond to my remarks about the pigeons. The gardeners had let some tramps spend the night in the Children's Villa, she said after a long pause, during which I began to wonder whether I had given Gambetti the right books, whether it would not have been a good idea to give him Fontane's [i]Effi Briest[/i] as well.

Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls,” he says earnestly to Finnick. “No, it doesn’t,” says Finnick dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that’s how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressured into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain. Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.

Hey, Effie, watch this!” says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, “We miss you, Effie!” I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss.

Although my road to writing seems like it may have come easily, there were a few bumps in that road. I didn’t get a lot of encouragement from friends, although my family were great supporters. I also had many…what you would call “mind-boggling” moments, when I would doubt myself and what I was writing. It has been said that we, ourselves, are our own worst critics. All the hard work had payed off though, and I created a children’s book that I am proud of, and an unforgettable little girl that will touch the hearts of many.”-Nina Jean Slack

I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall — Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especially when she knows this will be on tape, but I don’t care. I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch’s arms first. When he whispers in my ear, “Nice job, sweetheart,” it doesn’t sound sarcastic. Effie’s somewhat teary and keeps patting my hair and talking about how she told everyone we were pearls. Cinna just hugs me tight and doesn’t say anything.

The day of the reaping’s hot and sultry. The population of District 12 waits, sweating and silent, in the square with machine guns trained on them. I stand alone in a small roped-off area with Peeta and Haymitch in a similar pen to the right of me. The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

The very best thing about landing in that grave? Perspective. So I peer through this morning's prism: a science test looming in second period, an a-hole of a coach who probably could have used more childhood therapy than I got, and a tell-tale tampon under my foot. I consider the clawed tiger on the bed, the one wearing the zebra-printed sports bra - the same tiger that every Sunday transforms into the girl who voluntarily walks next door to help sort Miss Effie's medicine into her days-of-the-week pill container. The one who pretended her ankle hurt one day last week so the backup settler on her volleyball team would get to play on her birthday.

But I am a paladin,” Cordelia cried. “It’s awful, I loathe it— don’t imagine that I feel anything other than hated for this thing that binds me to Lilith. But they fear me because of it. They dare not touch me—” “Oh?” snarled James. “They dare not touch you? That’s not what it bloody looked like.” “The demon at Chiswick House—it was about to tell me something about Belial, before you shot it.” “Listen to yourself, Cordelia!” James shouted. “You are without Cortana! You cannot even lift a weapon! Do you know what it means to me, that you cannot protect yourself? Do you understand that I am terrified, every moment of every day and night, for your safety?” Cordelia stood speechless. She had no idea what to say. She blinked, and felt something hot against her cheek. She put her hand up quickly—surely she was not crying?— and it came away scarlet. “You’re bleeding,” James said. He closed the distance between them in two strides. He caught her chin and lifted it, his thumb stroking across her cheekbone. “Just a scratch,” he breathed. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Daisy, tell me—” “No. I’m fine. I promise you,” she said, her voice wavering as his intent golden eyes spilled over her, searching for signs of injury. “It’s nothing.” “It’s the furthest thing from nothing,” James rasped. “By the Angel, when I realized you’d gone out, at night, weaponless—” “What were you even doing at the house? I thought you were staying at the Institute.” “I came to get something for Jesse,” James said. “I took him shopping, with Anna—he needed clothes, but we forgot cuff links—” “He did need clothes,” Cordelia agreed. “Nothing he had fit.” “Oh, no,” said James. “We are not chatting. When I came in, I saw your dress in the hall, and Effie told me she’d caught a glimpse of you leaving. Not getting in a carriage, just wandering off toward Shepherd Market—” “So you Tracked me?” “I had no choice. And then I saw you—you had gone to where your father died,” he said after a moment. “I thought—I was afraid—” “That I wanted to die too?” Cordelia whispered. It had not occurred to her that he might think that. “James. I may be foolish, but I am not self-destructive.” “And I thought, had I made you as miserable as that? I have made so many mistakes, but none were calculated to hurt you. And then I saw what you were doing, and I thought, yes, she does want to die. She wants to die and this is how she’s chosen to do it.” He was breathing hard, almost gasping, and she realized how much of his fury was despair. “James,” she said. “It was a foolish thing to do, but at no moment did I want to die—” He caught at her shoulders. “You cannot hurt yourself, Daisy. You must not. Hate me, hit me, do anything you want to me. Cut up my suits and set fire to my books. Tear my heart into pieces, scatter them across England. But do not harm yourself—” He pulled her toward him, suddenly, pressing his lips to her hair, her cheek. She caught him by the arms, her fingers digging into his sleeves, holding him to her. “I swear to the Angel,” he said, in a muffled voice, “if you die, I will die, and I will haunt you. I will give you no peace—” He kissed her mouth. Perhaps it had been meant to be a quick kiss, but she could not help herself: she kissed back. And it was like breathing air after being trapped underground for weeks, like coming into sunlight after darkness.

Era quel nome... Marta. Il suo nome era un sospiro, una preghiera, una supplica: sulle labbra di Fanny un bacio, su quelle di Henry un gemito, su quelle di Effie una benedizione di tale potenza che il suo intero essere era soffuso di amore e di desiderio... Marta. Dopo mezzanotte lei percorreva il corridoio poco illuminato della casa di Crook Street. Quando passava sentivo sulla nuca il suo tocco leggero, ironico. Coglievo il suo profumo sulle tende, udivo il tono piacevolmente roco, la voce con la lieve inflessione dalla finestra aperta, mentre rideva dall'umida nebbia di Londra. La sognavo così come l'avevo vista la prima volta dalla fessura nel muro, un rosa ardente di carne cremisi, una Furia con i capelli in fiamme, che rideva attraverso il fuoco come una pazza o una dea...

Mi aspettavo che la solita ondata di ripugnanza per me stesso mi assalisse da un momento all'altro: tutta la mia libidine era spenta e non mi trastullavo mai con le puttane dopo averle usate... capitava di rado che volessi rivederle di nuovo. Ma questa era diversa. Per la prima volta in vita mia, provavo tenerezza per una donna, per questa ragazza, qualcosa che non avevo provato neppure con Effie. Soprattutto non con Effie. Qualcosa dentro di me voleva assaggiarla, conoscerla: come se l'atto in sé che avevamo compiuto non fosse stato nulla... niente era stato rivelato, niente si era guastato. Mi resi conto con improvvisa, esilarante chiarezza che questo era il Mistero. Questa ragazza, questa tenerezza. [...] Le toccai il collo, il braccio, la curva tesa della coscia. "Marta..." [...] "Marta." "Si?" "Ti amo." Nel buio, il suo bacio fu dolce.