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S Quotes

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All S Quotes

“She had a lovely singing voice. Most well-bred young ladies could play, but few could sing, and Miss Cross could. Eliza, he reminded himself. Perhaps his future wife, the mother of his children, the woman would share his bed and his house. She loved her dog, she sang beautifully, and she liked the theater. Other than that, he knew nothing about her.Could he do this? She wasn't a typical beauty. Her face was round and her hair was an ordinary shade of light brown. A string of pearls circled her neck, and Hugh was sure her pale green silk gown had cost as much as Edith's court gown, but it suited her. Some women had no sense of style and bought the latest fashion whether it made them ugly or exquisite. With two sisters and a mother in his house, Hugh knew enough of ladies' clothing to see that this lady chose well. When she reached to turn the page, he got up and went to stand beside her to turn the next one. Her voice wobbled a bit as he did so, but she played on. Her skin was lovely. He spied a few freckles on her nose, but her shoulders and bosom were as pale as cream. Her bosom... Hugh reached for the next page and stole a quick glance downward. Plump and tempting, now that he looked at it. Her hands were graceful on the keys, and his mind wandered involuntarily into thoughts of what they would feel like on him. What it would be like to kiss her. What she would be like in bed. Would she be shy? Frightened? He found himself hoping not, even though he hadn't even decided to court her yet.”

“She had a pretty good idea what Tony was seeking. He couldn't look at her without seeing her mother, and father, and brother. He needed to know for certain that she would never share their point of view, one which saw nothing beyond the color of his skin. Janet wanted to abolish his doubts but could not, for the simple reason that she did see Tony's color. The genesis of their love was physical attraction, and his complexion had lured her the same as hers undoubtedly pulled him. It was not his blackness that she fell in love with, but it was a part of him, and therefore, a part of what she loved.”

“She had a purple shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her hair was loosely tied at the nape. Hill stepped back and examined her from several angles before announcing that he was content. He implored her to remain as still as possible, looking pointedly at Raven. Sarah exhibited no similar difficulty, remaining entirely immobile as though she had fallen into an open-eyed trance. She was not the only one. Raven found himself gazing rapt at her face, the paleness of her skin, the golden highlights in her hair. A sense of tranquility settled upon him, as though the serenity of her stillness had somehow been transferred to him. ‘You seem transfixed,’ observed Hill quietly, walking past. ‘A pity you could not have held such a pose earlier.”

“She had a sort of wild, dangerous intelligence that was often at the root of the trouble she got into, and she saw in him a similar intelligence, a certain way of looking at the world, that had settled in him in a way that it had not quite settled in her, and in a way that she probably hoped it might one day, despite a confidence that was as wild as her intelligence. If there was anyone who might've inspired her to change course, it was him, despite her normal distaste and disregard for most forms of authority.”

“She had a theory that the fear of getting in trouble was what made her not as good a programmer and that, in fact, it was all linked to testosterone, and that was why there were more guy programmers than women. It was a very hazy theory, and she didn't like it, but she had pretty much convinced herself it was true, although she couldn't bear to think of sharing it with anybody, because it was a lot better to think that there were social reasons why girls didn't usually become code monkeys than to think there were biological reasons.”

“She had a very childlike face, and in our pedophiliac culture, looking like a child is every woman’s beauty goal. But she grew up in a tough environment, so to offset her cherubic face, she intentionally deepened her voice and cursed more than any adult I knew. She looked like an American Girl doll and talked like a crusty old war veteran who had seen too much. She had the worldly confidence of a much older girl and she got even more confident when her full pubic bush grew in.”

“She had a woman’s swagger at twelve-and-a-half. Hair: strawberry-blonde, and I vaguely recall a daisy in the crook of her ear. She was an inch taller than me, two with the ponytail; smooth cheeks and darling brown eyes that marbled in luscious contrast with her magnolia skin; cream, melting to peach, melting to pink. She beamed like a cherub without the baby fat; a tender neck; pristine lips that would never part for a dirty word. Her body--of no interest to me at the time--was wrapped from neck to toes with home-made footie pajamas, the kind they make for toddlers, but I didn’t laugh; the girl filled that silly one-piece ensemble as if it were couture.”