I Will Try To Write

This Book Taught Me, Once And For All, How Easily You Can Escape This World With The Help Of Words! You Can Find Friends Between The Pages Of A Book, Wonderful Friends.

So It's Happened, I Kept Thinking, You're In The Middle Of A Story Exactly As You've Always Wanted, And It's Horrible. Fear Tastes Quite Different When You're Not Just Reading About It, Meggie, And Playing Hero Wasn't Half As Much Fun As I'd Expected.

The Night Breathed Through The Apartment Like A Dark Animal. The Ticking Of A Clock. The Groan Of A Floorboard As He Slipped Out Of His Room. All Was Drowned By Its Silence. But Jacob Loved The Night. He Felt It On His Skin Like A Promise. Like A Cloak Woven From Freedom And Danger.

Meggie Folchart: Having Writer's Block? Maybe I Can Help. Fenoglio: Oh Yes, That's Right. You Want To Be A Writer, Don't You? Meggie Folchart: You Say That As If It's A Bad Thing. Fenoglio: Oh No, It's Just A Lonely Thing. Sometimes The World You Create On The Page Seems More Friendly And Alive Than The World You Actually Live In.

The Tent In Which She First Met Him Had Smelled Of Blood, Of The Death She Did Not Understand, And Still She Had Thought Of It All As A Game. She Had Promised Him The World. His Flesh In The Flesh Of His Enemies. And Much Too Late Had She Realized What He Had Sown In Her. Love. Worst Of All Poisons.