Engraving For Ring Quotes

Patch reached for my hand and pushed my dad's ring off the tip of his finger and into my palm, curling my fingers around it. He kissed my knuckles. "I was going to give this back earlier, but it wasn't finished." I opened my palm and held the ring up. The same heart was engraved on the underside, but now there were two names carved on either side of it: NORA and JEV. I looked up. "Jev? That's your real name?" "Nobody's called me that in a long time.

I want you to steal something." I smiled. "Do you want the king's seal? I can get it for you." "If I were you," said the magus, "I'd stop bragging about that." His voice grated. My smile grew. The gold ring with the engraved ruby had been in his safekeeping when I had stolen it away.

Evie picked up the smallest of the rings and tried it on the fourth finger of her left hand. It fit perfectly. Raising it closer to her face, she examined the design. It was the simplest of all the rings, a polished gold band engraved with the words Tha Gad Agam Ort. “What does this mean?” she asked MacPhee. “It says, ‘My love is upon ye.

When did they stop putting toys in cereal boxes? When I was little, I remember wandering the cereal aisle (which surely is as American a phenomenon as fireworks on the Fourth of July) and picking my breakfast food based on what the reward was: a Frisbee with the Trix rabbit's face emblazoned on the front. Holographic stickers with the Lucky Charms leprechaun. A mystery decoder wheel. I could suffer through raisin bran for a month if it meant I got a magic ring at the end. I cannot admit this out loud. In the first place, we are expected to be supermoms these days, instead of admitting that we have flaws. It is tempting to believe that all mothers wake up feeling fresh every morning, never raise their voices, only cook with organic food, and are equally at ease with the CEO and the PTA. Here's a secret: those mothers don't exist. Most of us-even if we'd never confess-are suffering through the raisin bran in the hopes of a glimpse of that magic ring. I look very good on paper. I have a family, and I write a newspaper column. In real life, I have to pick superglue out of the carpet, rarely remember to defrost for dinner, and plan to have BECAUSE I SAID SO engraved on my tombstone. Real mothers wonder why experts who write for Parents and Good Housekeeping-and, dare I say it, the Burlington Free Press-seem to have their acts together all the time when they themselves can barely keep their heads above the stormy seas of parenthood. Real mothers don't just listen with humble embarrassment to the elderly lady who offers unsolicited advice in the checkout line when a child is throwing a tantrum. We take the child, dump him in the lady's car, and say, "Great. Maybe YOU can do a better job." Real mothers know that it's okay to eat cold pizza for breakfast. Real mothers admit it is easier to fail at this job than to succeed. If parenting is the box of raisin bran, then real mothers know the ratio of flakes to fun is severely imbalanced. For every moment that your child confides in you, or tells you he loves you, or does something unprompted to protect his brother that you happen to witness, there are many more moments of chaos, error, and self-doubt. Real mothers may not speak the heresy, but they sometimes secretly wish they'd chosen something for breakfast other than this endless cereal. Real mothers worry that other mothers will find that magic ring, whereas they'll be looking and looking for ages. Rest easy, real mothers. The very fact that you worry about being a good mom means that you already are one.

It was the simplest of all the rings, a polished gold band engraved with the words Tha Gad Agam Ort. “What does this mean?” she asked MacPhee. “It says, ‘My love is upon ye.

It's a promise ring. A long time ago, they would be engraved with the words Pour route ma vie, de tout mon coeur, For my whole life, all of my love. I wanted to give you something that showed my complete and total devotion to you, to us. I have turned your world upside down. First when I tried to kill myself and left you to deal with the aftermath. Then again when I came back and you've been trying to handle my constantly changing life. I know I haven't been easy. I wish I could say that one day things might be simpler. But the truth is I can't say that. I wish I could. I can only say, with one hundred percent certainty that I love you. That I live and breathe for you. That I would lay down my life a million times over for you. And no matter what happens tomorrow, next week, next year, my heart will always be yours.

Laura Vaughan, who set a women’s record at the Hardrock in 1997, the only year she ran it, also was the first person to finish the Wasatch Front 100 for ten consecutive years and the first woman to break 24 hours. That makes her fast. What makes her tough, though—what makes her a bona fide Hardrocker—is that in 1996, nine weeks after giving birth to a son, she ran the Wasatch and breastfed her baby at the aid stations. Her ten-year ring from the event is engraved “Lactating Laura.” Tough?

Napoleon had the words “To Destiny!” engraved on the wedding ring he gave his wife. Destiny was what he’d always believed in, it was how he justified his boldest, most ambitious ideas.

The world’s oldest map, the Babylonian Map of the World, had a little circle bored through the center. Scholars explained that the hole had come from using a compass to trace the two outer rings of the map. Oghi was captivated more by that hole than by the geometric shapes engraved in the clay tablet, and had stared at it for a long time in the darkened exhibit room of the British Museum. That dark, narrow hole went as deep as the memory of an age that no one could ever return to. The only way to reach that lost age was through that hole, but the hole itself could never be reached.

Neil said nothing. Andrew hooked his fingers in the collar of Neil's shirt and tugged just enough for Neil to feel it. "I know what I'm doing. I knew what I was agreeing to when I took Kevin's side. I knew what it could cost us and how far I'd have to go. Understand? You aren't going anywhere. You're staying here." Andrew didn't let go until Neil nodded, and then he reached for Neil's hand. He took his cigarette back, put it between his lips, and pressed a warm key into Neil's empty palm. Neil lifted his hand to look at it. The hardware logo engraved in it meant it was a copy. To what, Neil didn't know, but it only took him a moment to figure it out. Andrew used this key to unlock the front door and then took it off the ring on the porch. Now he was giving it to Neil. "Get some sleep," Andrew said. "We're going home tomorrow. We'll figure this out then." Andrew went around Neil to the front door. He had no sympathy or comfort for his family as they grieved Seth's unexpected death, but he would keep watch on them from the doorway until they were okay again. It was harder than it should have been for Neil to look away from him, but he finally set off down the hall.

It’s not like you have anything to lose anymore.” My fingers stop at my thumb ring while Sienna’s words echo in my head. Do I have anything to lose? I mean, after all I did, everything I fought against. I slowly turn the ring on my thumb. This simple band has, like all of my rings, one word engraved on it. Will anything change if I go to him? After all, I did lose everything that is important. It’s funny, actually, after the months I spent pushing him away. I thought, like the silly girl I probably am, that if I didn’t give myself to him, I’d be safe, that as long as I didn’t sleep with him, I wouldn’t lose my heart. Shouldn’t I have this one last memory to take home with me? So lost…I came here lost and I’ll go home lost. How convenient, and so utterly pathetic I want to give myself one strong shake to snap out of this.

He is thinking of a ring, engraved with proverbs in praise of obedience. Obedience binds us together; all practise it, under God. It is the condition of our living as humans, in cities and dwelling houses, not in hides and holes in the fields. Even beasts defer to the lion: beasts show wisdom and policy thereby.

On the eve of the wedding, which Diana spent at Clarence House, her mood was much improved when Charles sent her a signet ring engraved with the Prince of Wales feathers and an affectionate card which said: “I’m so proud of you and when you come up I’ll be there at the altar for you tomorrow. Just look ‘em in the eye and knock ‘em dead.

Guess my fingers are a little fatter than they used to be. It’s engraved on the inside, the date of our wedding: July twenty-third, 2005. Best day of my life …” An empty laugh, to push away the tears. “I like wearing the ring. It’s a little reminder of Rachel, of the life we had together, however short it was. Means she’s still here in some small way.

She held the ring in her palm, looking down at it. When she turned it in her hand, she saw for the first time that there were letters engraved on the inner curve as well as the outside. She tilted it to the light. A vila mon Coeur, it said in French. A vila mon Coeur. Gardi li mo. She closed her eyes, curling her fingers tight around the ring, and bowed her head with a whimper of despair. Here is my heart. Guard it well.

This explained why Upper East Side mothers all wore tiny medallions engraved with their children’s initials around their necks. And stacking rings, one for each child, on their fingers. And entered the names of other mothers in their contacts under the names of their children, so that, on so many of my new friends’ phone and email lists, I came up not as “Wednesday Martin” but as “Eliot M/ mother, Wednesday M.” We were our children, utterly merged together.

Of course, expression comes like the annual growth rings in a tree trunk, and perhaps it would be quite impossible to laugh with no preparation at all. Depending on the life one has led, a tendency to repeat certain expressions causes them to become fixed by sags and wrinkles. A smiling expression becomes naturally engraved in a face that is often smiling. Chronic anger engraves itself on the face, too. But on my mask, which was like the face of a new-born infant, there was not the crease of a single growth-ring as yet.

I didn’t want a fancy engagement ring or a gaudy wedding band; for me, a plain wedding ring was a perfect symbol. I like simple, especially in a wedding ring: it reminds you that love is about love, nothing else--not money, not appearances, not showing off. But it seemed almost impossible to convince anyone of that. Including Chris. He kept asking me what I wanted, and wouldn’t take “simple” for an answer. Then my mother got into the act. My grandmother had left her a diamond from a ring that she had had. Mom suggested that I use it as the centerpiece of an engagement ring. I told her thanks, but no thanks. “I don’t care whether you wear it as an engagement ring or a belly button ring,” she insisted after we went around a bit. “But I’m sending it.” She did. It was lovely. Chris and I ended up taking it to a local jewelry store. We found a wonderful setting we both loved and had the jeweler set the diamond in it. We got our wedding rings the same day, adding an engraving on the inside. “All of me,” Chris wrote on mine. “My love, my life,” I said on his.

Half-way there, a touch of his normal common sense returned to him and he slowed down, wondering what exchange of courtesies he was going to offer a vagabond, an Abram man, or an idiot. Then the man turned his head and Richard saw that he was none of these things. That the frieze cloak he wore was rich, and fell back from the silk of a high-collared tunic; that his hair, flicked by the wind, was yellow as mustard and the shadowless face, faintly engraved upon and tired as cered linen, was indeed that of Francis his brother. Lymond did not move. His head lifted, watching, showed no conventional welcome; his brows, cloudily drawn, suggested the weight of something so firmly extinguished that nothing was left, in thought or expression, save a curious air, part of resignation, part of defiance which had to do, perhaps, with his stillness. Only the edge of his cloak stirred tardily, with his inaudible breathing. His parted lips closing, Richard Crawford came to a halt and stood, looking down at his brother. ‘There is not a soul but over it is a keeper,’ Lymond said. ‘Welcome, brother.’

If you give me the name of the contraceptive shot you had, I will source for more of them. I am keen that nothing interrupts our enjoyment of each other.” His tone indicated the understatement of the millennium. “It’s called Depo-Provera. It’s supposed to last three months or so, and Paul has a few more doses.” When he’d injected me, I’d said, “The idea of living another three months feels far-fetched right now.” He’d replied, “Better safe than sorry, huh?” Aric nodded. “I will be on the lookout for it.” Aric raised a brow at that. Then, seeming to make a decision, he eased me aside to get out of the bed. “I have something for you.” As he strode to our closet, I gawked at the sight of his flawless body. The return view was even more rewarding. He sat beside me and handed me a small jewelry box. “I want you to have this.” I opened the box, finding a gorgeous gold ring, engraved with runes that called to mind his tattoos. An oval of amber adorned the band. Beautiful. The warm color reminded me of his eyes whenever he was pleased. “My homeland was famous for amber—from pine.” He slipped the ring on my finger, and it fit perfectly. Holding my gaze, he said, “We are wed now.” First priest I find, I’m goan to marry you. Jack’s words. I recalled the love blazing from his gray gaze before I stifled the memory. “Aric, th-this is so beautiful. Thank you.” The symbol of his parents’ marriage had been derived from trees. Another waypoint.

Her eyes were closed so tightly that you could see her long-curled eyelashes pointed skyward, in her baby blue coffin. She was an angel to look at even at that moment. I knew that she was looking over all of us! In addition to that, she was most likely looking at him and holding his hands with her spiritual touch, I could just feel it. He said that he felt the breeze of her presents. He was crying hysterically from his hazel almost jade green eyes! I remember he said that he was secretly in love with Jaylynn back to when she was a little girl. That he never got the chance to say that to her in person. I remember him placing one pink daisy in her box on top of her small, yet perky upward-facing breasts next to her motionless heart; with the bloom under her chin and her slight smile. Along with that, then he slid an engraved promise ring on her finger as well; at that moment… one of his teardrops fell from his eyes on her petite hand, as he was holding it… not wanting to ever let go of her. That is love… if I ever did see it. Greg also whispered to me, that he never even got to kiss her as he always hoped to do, and that she was everything that he was looking for in a girl. Furthermore, he would never look for anyone else. That she was the one, and the only! The only thing I could say was; I thank you and follow your heart, and she will be watching over you. Then he walked away… I never saw him again after that. You know I don't even know his last name. Still, I will always remember his face, and the look that was upon it that day, he was devastated. So, someone did care about her, someone truly loved her, and adored her, and it was taken away from him too. Why! Why oh God, why? Why didn’t she see this when she was alive? ‘Why is a question that has no answers, only just more unanswered questions?

I once heard a story about a king who, in trying to teach one of his servants humility, told him to find a ring that when worn was able to make the happy sad and the unhappy glad. Knowing no such a ring existed, he set the servant off, giving him six months to seek it. The servant searched all over the land to no avail. The night before the six months expired, he met a wise man in a village and asked, "Do you know of a ring when worn can make the happy sad and the unhappy glad?" The wise man silently nodded his head and engraved a few words on a ring. The following day the king summoned the servant and asked if he had found the ring. While everyone in the room, including the king, was getting ready to laugh and humiliate him, the servant handed him the ring. The cheerful mood of the king changed as he read the words engraved on it: This Too Shall Pass

Are you with me or not?” So many thoughts flew through Cass’s brain at once that she couldn’t latch on to a single one of them. “But--but we don’t have any idea where to begin,” she said. Falco pulled something from the pocket of his cloak. “Wrong. We have this.” A strange ring sat on his palm, a smooth red stone set in sturdy silver. “I found it in your friend’s tomb.” So that was what Falco had meant when he mentioned a trinket the previous night. She had forgotten all about it in her haste to escape the graveyard. Cass lifted the ring from his hand. A strange symbol was engraved in the center of the red stone. A six-petaled flower, inscribed in a circle. She had never seen Liviana wear anything like it. “Why didn’t you mention this before?” she asked sharply. Falco’s eyes glinted in the dark. “Mi dispiace, Signorina. I got a bit distracted by the body of a murdered woman.

As Amelia stripped away the nightgown and let it drop to the floor, she saw a flash of gold on her left forefinger. Startled, she lifted her hand and examined it. A small gold signet ring with an elaborate engraved initial. It was the one Cam always wore on his smallest finger. He must have put it on her last night, while she was sleeping. Had he meant it as a parting gift? Or did it have some other significance to him? She tried to pull it off, and discovered it was firmly stuck. “Drat,” she muttered, tugging at the thing in vain. She took a cake of soap from the wardrobe and brought it into the bath with her. The hot water soothed a myriad of small aches and stings, easing the soreness between her thighs. Sighing deeply, Amelia soaped her hand and went to work on the ring. But no matter how she tried, it wouldn’t budge. Soon the surface of the bathwater was covered with soap froth, and Amelia was cursing with frustration. She couldn’t let anyone see her wearing one of Cam’s rings. How in God’s name was she supposed to explain how and why she’d gotten it?

Weights He buys me a ring with, you are the only thing I am living for, engraved along the edge and when I slip it on that expectation burns me. I feel it branding my skin. I can’t sleep for the fire of those words against my finger. My hand gets so heavy I can’t lift it to his face and months go by as the weight slides up my arm and into my shoulder. By Christmas I am bent double and gasping. By Easter I can’t get off the floor. It’s too much, I try to whisper, too much to carry this. You can’t build a life on another human being. We’re foundations of sand. We’re Atlas buckling under the sky.

Bryce halted suddenly between two black obelisks, each engraved with a different array of those odd symbols. The obelisks—and dozens more beyond them—flanked what seemed to be a central walkway stretching into the mist. She drew the Starsword, and Hunt didn’t have time to stop her before she whacked it against the side of the closest obelisk. It clanked, its ringing echoing into the gloom. She did it again. Then a third time. “Ringing the dinner bell?” Hunt asked. “Worth a shot,” Bryce muttered back. And smarter than running around shouting Emile’s and Sofie’s names. Though if they were as survival-savvy as they seemed, Hunt doubted either would come running to investigate. As the noise faded, what remained of the light dimmed. What remained of the warmth turned to ice. Someone—something—had answered. The other being they sought here. Their breath hung in the air, and Hunt angled himself in front of Bryce, monitoring the road ahead. When the Under-King spoke, however, in a voice simultaneously ancient and youthful but cold and dry, the sound came from behind them. “This land is closed to you, Bryce Quinlan.

He opened the velvet box he carried and dropped to one knee. Jasminda’s eyes widened and her lips began to tremble. He presented her with a traditional Elsiran engagement ring of two interlocking bands engraved with her name and his in curling script.

There’s a Jewish folktale about a biblical king who dispatches one of his wise men to craft him a mantra that would both humble the proud and console the unfortunate. After searching in the market, where our wise man consults a local jeweler, he returns to the king with an engraved ring. The king holds the ring close and reads: THIS TOO SHALL PASS. So remember that, when lamenting your troubles, contemplating the perceived triumphs of peers and competitors, or rejoicing in that rare entrepreneurial triumph. It will all soon pass, and much faster than you think.

Har!” Tormund laughed. That had not changed either; he still laughed easily and often. “Wise words. I’d not want you crows to peck me to death.” He slapped Jon’s back. “When all my folk are safe behind your Wall, we’ll share a bit o’ meat and mead. Till then …” The wildling pulled off the band from his left arm and tossed it at Jon, then did the same with its twin upon his right. “Your first payment. Had those from my father and him from his. Now they’re yours, you thieving black bastard.” The armbands were old gold, solid and heavy, engraved with the ancient runes of the First Men. Tormund Giantsbane had worn them as long as Jon had known him; they had seemed as much a part of him as his beard. “The Braavosi will melt these down for the gold. That seems a shame. Perhaps you ought to keep them.” “No. I’ll not have it said that Tormund Thunderfist made the free folk give up their treasures whilst he kept his own.” He grinned. “But I’ll keep the ring I wear about me member. Much bigger than those little things. On you it’d be a torque.

Um, Your Majesty,” the priest cleared his throat, “we’re not to that part of the ceremony yet.” Still, Darling held on to her and whispered in her ear with that deep, damaged voice that sent chills all over her body. “In all my life, I have only had one haven that sheltered me from my hell. One woman whose smile made me fly even after I’d hit the ground so hard that I didn’t think I could ever stand again. There is nothing in this universe that could destroy me, except you, Zarya. You have taken a monster and made him human. My wounded soul was healed because of your smile. So long as I live and even beyond this life, I am and will always be ever yours.” Her tears fell even harder as she heard the sincerity behind those words. “Ever yours” was what he’d engraved in the band of her wedding ring… She

but she kept the box engraved with his initials, J. C., next to her bed. Along with the medals were one or two photos, a wedding ring, and a single lock of blond hair. Sometimes Jocelyn took the box out and opened it and held the lock of hair very gently in her hands before putting it back and carefully locking the box up again.

Lens Larque is said to be enamoured of the whip; he considers it a trusty friend and a convenient instrument for the punishment of his enemies. He uses it often to this end, judging it preferable to other methods. At Sadabra he owns a great house with a semi-circular room where he sits to take his victual: great heaps of hork and pummigum* consumed with tankards of must. For savor he keeps by his side a fine short-handled whip, with a lash twelve and a half feet long. The pommel is ivory and engraved with the whip’s name: PANAK. The reference has never been elucidated, to this writer’s knowledge. The lash terminates in a bifurcated flap of leather four inches long: the ‘scorpion’. Around the wall stand Lens Larque’s enemies, manacled to rings and naked as eggs. To the buttocks of each is pasted a heart-shaped target three inches in diameter. To enliven his meal Lens Larque attempts to snap off the targets with the flutter of his whip, and his skill is said to be fine.

There’s a territory in the North, a small bit of fertile land that used to belong to the Allsbrook family. It could use a lady.” “What.” “It’s plagued by ghost leopards—hence the engraving on the ring. But I suppose if there was anyone capable of handling them, it’d be you.” “And—and the key symbol above the leopard?” “To remind you of who now holds your freedom. You.

Hell. I swallowed hard and traced a finger along one of the cuff bracelets. The color of platinum. “My God, Lee.” I picked one of them up and felt the weight of it in my hand. Such a simple design, straight lines, gleaming metal, about four or five millimeters wide, maybe two millimeters thick. Both had the same engraving. The Property and Love of Master Kingsley. Lee’s arms appeared under mine, and he placed a tiny screwdriver of sorts next to the box. It was the key, I realized. He was collaring me—permanently. Fuck. I wasn’t gonna cry, I wasn’t gonna cry. “Wear my collar,” he whispered in my ear. “For the rest of your life.” I nodded jerkily as my throat closed up. Holy shit, this was happening. “Always, Master.” He pressed himself closer to my back and took the first cuff from me. And he used the little screwdriver, in the same material, and unlocked the tiny lock. “Have you heard of cobalt chrome before?” he asked quietly. I shook my head, unable to stop staring at the cuffs. “Long before we started marketing it as an alternative for gold in wedding rings, we’ve used it for artificial joints, implants, and prosthetics because of how our bodies accept the metal.” He attached the first cuff around my left wrist, and it snapped into place with the faintest snick. Then he used the tool to secure the locking mechanism. “You’ll wear them day and night. You’ll shower with them. They’ll weather every storm, every fight-fuck in the woods, every flame from my Kevlar flogger, and any insecurity we might face together.” I sniffled and blinked past the sting in my eyes. “They’ll always be with you.” He moved on to the second cuff. “By default, I will always be with you too. They’re not just proof of my ownership—they’re a reminder that Master is one call away. And only he has the key.” My chest seized up, and the second both cuffs were locked into place, I spun in his embrace and threw my arms around his neck. I couldn’t fucking find my words. I just felt how full my heart was, how joy surged through me, how comfort threw a giant blanket over my existence. Lee tightened his arms around me and squeezed me so hard. “They’re never coming off.” “Good,” I croaked. “I love you so much.” Stronger than titanium. Like our love.

She held the ring in her palm, looking down at it. When she turned it in her hand, she saw for the first time that there were letters engraved on the inner curve as well as the outside. She tilted it to the light. A vila mon Coeur, it said in French. A vila mon Coeur. Gardi li mo. She closed her eyes, curling her fingers tight around the ring, and bowed her head with a whimper of despair. Here is my heart. Guard it well.

At the head of potency of the King, He engraved engravings in luster on high. A spark of impenetrable darkness flashed within the concealed of the concealed, from the head of Infinity —a cluster of vapor forming in formlessness, thrust in a ring, not white, not black, not red, not green, no color at all. As a cord surveyed, it yielded radiant colors. Deep within the spark gushed a flow, splaying colors below, concealed within the concealed of the mystery of Ein Sof. It split and did not split its aura, was not known at all, until under the impact of splitting, a single, concealed, supernal point shone. Beyond that point, nothing is known, so it is called ראשית (Reshit). Beginning, first command of all. The enlightened will shine like the זהר (zohar), radiance, of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever (Daniel 12:3).

I can’t wait to see my ring on her finger. It’s as big as I wanted it to be. There’s no room left for misinterpreting what this ring means. It’ll mark her as mine the way I want it to, and I’ll gladly wear her feather engraved ring in return.

When we got there, he had champagne and rose petals and candles all over. Everywhere.” The levity returned to his eyes. “Ouch.” “Yup. I got outta there. It really freaked me out. Because you know why?” “Why?” he asked. “He should know. He should know I wouldn’t like that, right? That means something, doesn’t it?” His expression grew a little serious. “Yeah, it does.” “Am I a bitch? I am, huh? That was really sweet, and I should have appreciated that. I am a bitch. I knew it.” He chuckled. “No. You’re honest.” He shook his head and talked into his beer. “And he did it all wrong.” I smirked. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah.” He put his glass down. “Let me guess—the ring was huge. Big rock?” “Oh my God, Josh, you don’t even know. It was enormous. He designed it and had it made. It had this red rope of rubies around the band and…” I took a deep breath remembering it. He’d spent a fortune on it and I’d hated it. It was so gaudy. “Why? What kind of ring should he have gotten me?” “None. You’d want to pick your own ring. You’d probably say something like, ‘I’m the one who has to look at it for the next fifty years.’ I would have taken you to buy it instead of just springing it on you.” “How do you know I wouldn’t like a ring sprung on me?” I said, narrowing my eyes. He scoffed. “The only thing you like sprung on you are snacks. You have an opinion about everything. You’re also really practical. You’d probably pick something reasonable. No diamonds. I’m thinking an etched band. Nothing that would need to be repaired or cleaned or that you’d have to take off to do the dishes.” He regarded me for a moment. “Something personal engraved inside. Something only the two of you would get.” He knows me. He knows me almost better than I know myself.

Where were you today?” Poppy’s pleasure dissolved as she understood. He was suspicious of her. He thought she had gone to visit Michael. The injustice of that, and the hurt of being mistrusted, caused her face to stiffen. She answered in a brittle voice. “I went out for an errand or two.” “What kind of errand?” “I’d rather not say.” Harry’s face was hard and implacable. “I’m afraid I’m not giving you a choice. You will tell me where you went and whom you saw.” Reddening in outrage, Poppy whirled away from him and clenched her fists. “I don’t have to account for every minute of my day, not even to you.” “Today you do.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Poppy.” She laughed incredulously. “So you can verify my statements, and decide whether I’m lying to you?” His silence was answer enough. Hurt and furious, Poppy went to her reticule, which had been set on a small table, and rummaged in it. “I went to visit Leo,” she snapped without looking at him. “He’ll vouch for me, and so will the driver. And afterward I went to Bond Street to pick up something I had bought for you. I had wanted to wait for an appropriate moment to give it to you, but apparently that’s not possible now.” Extracting an object encased in a small velvet pouch, she resisted the temptation to throw it at him. “Here’s your proof,” she muttered, pushing it into his hands. “I knew you would never get one of these on your own.” Harry opened the pouch slowly, and let the object slide into his hand. It was a pocket watch with a solid gold casing, exquisitely simple except for the engraved initials JHR on the lid. There was a perplexing lack of reaction from Harry. His dark head was bent so that Poppy couldn’t even see his face. His fingers closed around the watch, and he let out a long, deep breath. Wondering if she had done the wrong thing, Poppy turned blindly to the bellpull. “I hope you like it,” she said evenly. “I’ll ring for dinner now. I’m hungry, even if you’re—” All at once Harry seized her from behind, wrapping his arms around her, one hand still gripped around the watch. His entire body was trembling, powerful muscles threatening to crush her. His voice was low and remorseful. “I’m sorry.” Poppy relaxed against him as he continued to hold her. She closed her eyes. “Damn it,” he said into the loose sheaf of her hair, “I’m so sorry. It’s just that the thought of you having any feelings for Bayning . . . it . . . doesn’t bring out the best in me.” “There’s an understatement,” Poppy said darkly. But she turned in his arms and pressed against him, her hand sliding up to the back of his head. “It tortures me,” he admitted gruffly. “I don’t want you to care for any man but me. Even if I don’t deserve it.

The King asked his wise men for some single thing that would make him happy when he was sad, but sad when he was happy. They consulted and came back with a ring engraved with the message ‘This Too Will Pass.

A King wanted a ring that had magical properties that made a happy man who looked at it, sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy. The King who thought it was a fools erand gave his trusted advisor 6 months to find it, when the advisor retuned with a ring that had words engraved on it the King was surprised, when the King saw it his face fell. It read; This time will pass.

Something else, though, made sense: the intellectual reading, the philosophy and great literature; the tailored suits and shoes; the aristocratic boxing club, where he spent money freely; and the ring, most of all having his own initials engraved on the Starling ring. Frederick Clarke was setting himself up, in his own mind, as a gentleman.