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Quote by S.M. Reine

“Without the baggy clothes or oven mitts, she looked less like a cute young housewife and more like something that had crawled out of Hell.”

Quote by S.M. Reine

Book:Deadly Hearts
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Deadly Hearts

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S.M. Reine

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“It was a garden, a walled garden. Overgrown but with beautiful bones visible still. Someone had cared for this garden once. The remains of two paths snaked back and forth, intertwined like the lacing on an Irish dancing shoe. Fruit trees had been espaliered around the sides, and wires zigzagged from the top of one wall to the top of another. Hungry, wisteria branches had woven themselves around to form a sort of canopy. Against the southern wall, an ancient and knobbled tree was growing. Cassandra went closer. It was the apple tree, she realized, the one whose bough had reached over the wall. She lifted her hand to touch one of the golden fruit. The tree was about sixteen feet high and shaped like the Japanese bonsai plant Nell had given Cassandra for her twelfth birthday.”

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“Then why did you come here?" Andrew asked. "Because I'm tired," Neil said, trying to sound defeated. It didn't take much effort. "I have nowhere else to go, and I'm too jealous of Kevin to stay away from him. He knows what it's like to hate every day of his life, to wake up afraid every day, but he's got you at his back telling him everything's going to be okay. He has everything, even when he's lost everything, and I'm—" Neil didn't want to say it, but the word was already there, broken and pathetic between them, "—nothing. I'll always have and be nothing.”

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“Cassandra lifted the apple to her lips. The sunny scent was strong as she bit into it. An apple, from a tree in her very own garden, a tree planted many years before that still produced fruit. Year in, year out. It was sweet. Were apples always so sweet? She yawned. The sun had made her very drowsy. She would sit, just for a little while longer, until the gardener arrived. She took another bite of the apple. The room felt warmer than it had before. As if the range had suddenly begun to work, as if someone else had joined her in the cottage and was beginning to make lunch. Her lids were heavy and she closed her eyes. A bird somewhere sang, a lovely, lonely tune; breeze-blown leaves tapped against the windows, and in the distance the ocean breathed steadily, in and out, in and out, in and out...”

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Book:The Forgotten Garden
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