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Quote by Winston Graham

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Jeremy Poldark

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Winston Graham
Winston Graham

Winston Graham, born on June 30, 1908, and died on July 10, 2003, was a British novelist. Known for his depictions of English rural life and historical events, his most famous work is the 'Poldark' series. more

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ScienceChanceEvolutionBiologyPredictionsNatural SelectionNaturalismDarwinismIntelligent DesignIdMacroevolutionMacro Evolution
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“He said nothing. Juliana peeped at him again. “You’re very anxious to get her in your power again, Vidal. But I don’t quite know why you should be, for you meant to marry her only because you had ruined her, and so were obliged to, didn’t you?” She thought that he was not going to answer, but suddenly he raised his eyes from the contemplation of the dregs of his wine. “Because I am obliged to?” he said. “I mean to marry Mary Challoner because I’m devilish sure I can’t live without her.” Juliana clapped her hands with a crow of delight. “Oh, it is famous!” she exclaimed. “I never dreamed you had fallen in love with my staid Mary! I thought you were chasing her through France just because you so hate to be crossed! But when you flew into a rage with me for saying she was too dull to be afraid of you, of course, I guessed at once! My dearest Dominic, I was never more glad of anything in my life, and it is of all things the most romantic possible! Do, do let us overtake them at once! Only conceive of their astonishment when they see us!”

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“The warm wool blanket dropped to the floor, and Lydia set her hand in the earl’s firm grip. She stuck her foot outside, but awareness wasn’t with her. That cavernous black doorway claimed her attention, and therein was her problem. Trouble came in mere seconds, as it usually did for her. The step was slick. She slipped. The sole of her leather shoe slid off the step’s edge. “Oww!” she yelped as her foot banged the graveled drive hard. Legs buckling, down she went, like a graceless sack of flour. What’s worse, she slammed into the earl, her shoulder punching his midsection. “Ooomph!” Lord Sanford grunted but moved quickly to save her from falling all the way to the ground. Her face mashed against leather and linen. Strong hands held her arms. At least she didn’t knock the earl down. Grabbing for purchase, her fingers touched warm wool…buttons…skin. Her face pressed into fabric, she murmured, “I’m so very sorry.” Lydia tried to right herself, but relief turned to horror: she was a mortified eye level with the pewter buttons of Lord Sanford’s breeches. Stalwart English mist snapped sense into her. That and seeing his placket bunched low in her fist. Her fingers grazed smooth flesh. Another, more interesting sliver of Lord Sanford’s skin was exposed: pale, intimate skin just below his navel. Lydia yanked back her hand, and a pewter button went flying. “Oh no!” she cried as humiliating heat flared across her face and neck. “Miss Montgomery? Are you injured?” Lord Sanford asked above the wind, slowly lifting her up. He sounded unperturbed at having a woman’s hand on the front of his breeches. hands on the front of his breeches.”

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“Here's the "explorer" paragraph: Lydia swayed into him, her back arching, but his hands caught her. His warm hand splayed wide against her upper back. The other ventured lower, massaging circles, lower, lower. Edwards’s hands, like his kisses, belonged to an explorer, not a ruthless conqueror. Testing and checking, his firm but gentle caresses enticed her into his web of curiosity and question. His kisses, his touch were not the rehearsed moves of a long-practiced rake, but genuine affection and sensuality braided into an explosive mix that promised to incinerate them on the spot if they didn’t stop.”

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“He gripped her hips, and standing up, slowly pushed volumes of silk with him. Blue fabric puffed and pillowed between them. His hand traced a slow caress the length of her from knee to hip. Edward’s nostrils flared, as did his eyes, when his roving hand slipped behind her, grappling bare skin. She quivered from tantalizing male touch exploring forbidden flesh. Lydia read Edward’s face, the flush of tanned skin and mouth unable to close, as knowledge seeped into his brain: she’d said her vows, eaten dinner with the utmost decorum, and chattered politely with all and sundry in this secret state of undress. Edward groaned and jammed her body hard against his. “You’re naked under your skirt.”

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