So what you’re saying is, I’m your brand of heroin? I teased, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin.
It was a strange combination to absorb – the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London.
A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Bella’s limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, her skin chalky as a corpse. I almost took the door off the car.
I don’t want you to leave Which is exactly why I should. But don’t worry. I’m essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should.
