I Stood Still, Vision Blurring, And In

Hodie Mihi Cras Tibi, Said The Inscription. Sic Transit Gloria Mundi. My Turn Today, Yours Tomorrow. And Thus Passes Away The Glory Of The World.

Really Rather Fascinating, You Know,' He Confided, And I Recognized, With An Internal Sigh, The Song Of The Scholar, As Identifying A Sound As The Terr-whit! Of A Thrush.

Does It Ever Stop? The Wanting You?" "even When I've Just Left Ye. I Want You So Much My Chest Feels Tight And My Fingers Ache With Wanting To Touch Ye Again.

So Long As My Body Lives, And Yours -- We Are One Flesh," He Whispered, "and When My Body Shall Cease, My Soul Will Still Be Yours. Claire -- I Swear By My Hope Of Heaven, I Will Not Be Parted From You.

Gentle He Would Be, Denied He Would Not.