He Was Dead. However, His Nose Throbbed

Blood Of My Blood," He Whispered, "and Bone Of My Bone. You Carry Me Within Ye, Claire, And Ye Canna Leave Me Now, No Matter What Happens, You Are Mine, Always, If Ye Will It Or No, If Ye Want Me Or Nay. Mine, And I Wilna Let Ye Go.

"sassenach." He Had Called Me That From The First; The Gaelic Word For Outlander, A Stranger. An Englishman. First In Jest, Then In Affection.

Men Go Where They Will, They Do As They Must; It Is Not A Woman's Part To Bid Them To Stay, Nor Yet To Reproach Them For Being What They Are-or For Not Coming Back.

I Shook So That It Was Some Time Before I Realized That He Was Shaking Too, And For The Same Reason. I Don't Know How Long We Sat There On The Dusty Floor, Crying In Each Others Arms With The Longing Of Twenty Years Spilling Down Our Faces.

Perhaps It Was Only That The Sense Of Reaching Out To Something Larger Than Yourself Gives You Some Feeling That There Is Something Larger - And There Really Has To Be, Because Plainly You Aren't Sufficient To The Situation.