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I was famished, perennially dizzy. I had unspeakable dreams about the sun.

The body was meat. Case fell into the prison of his own flesh.

He kept asking questions, and I answered them as truthfully as I could. Having confessed what I was, I felt myself driven to testing his intellectual rigour and the strength of his love at first sight. Throwing rocks at him without any expectation that he'd stay standing. He did, though. He caught the whole arsenal and asked for more.

Silence has gathered around me like a thick, viscous water filling in a muddy footprint.

Nothing happened. There was only the surging of the alarm, the crashing of the games, his heart hammering. When the fear came, it was like some half-forgotten friend. Not the cold, rapid mechanism of the dex-paranoia, but simple animal fear. He’d lived for so long on a constant edge of anxiety that he’d almost forgotten what real fear was.

Why would a four-leaf clover want to be an ordinary three-leaf?

"We're pretty near home now. That's Green Gables over—"

Staring up into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing on the ocean in a voyage around the world, when the sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash.

He coughs, though he doesn’t need to. This is a weakness and he knows that Marianne senses it, like blood in water.

The idea of the ocean was too overwhelming. She found she could only equate it with death. Wasn't that what death was for? The great unknown?

[...] they almost always fought, and insulted each other's characters and reviled each other's beliefs, but they kept doing it, didn't they? And didn't that mean something? Didn't it mean something bound them, somehow?

Momentarily she hates him but the malice always dissipates. He doesn’t mean to touch this terrible need in her.