But we are here, all of us. And we're here because i love you, more than the life that was mine. Because i believed you loved me the same way...Will you tell me that's not true? No, he said after a moment, so softly i could barely hear him. His hand tightened harder on mine. No, i willna tell ye that. Not ever, claire.
I wasn't used to living crowded cheek by jowl with numbers of other people, as was customary here. People ate, slept, and frequently copulated, crammed into tiny, stifling cottages, lit and warmed by smoky peat fires. The only thing they didn't do together was bathe - largely because they didn't bathe.
I have no objection to well-written romance, but i'd read enough of it to know that that's not what i had written. I also knew that if it was sold as romance i'd never be reviewed by the 'new york times' or any other literarily respectable newspaper - which is basically true, although the 'washington post' did get round to me eventually.