There Are Lines

She started to put on the cashmere coat — blue as her eyes — he’d given her for Christmas , but at his head shake , switched to her parka . At least he didn’t quibble about the cashmere scarf she wrapped around her neck . He helped her shoulder her backpack. “Can you handle it?”

She made a fist, bent her arm at the elbow . “I’m an urbanite who uses the gym . Or used to.” With it , she picked up her purse, put it on cross – body .

“Lana , you don’t need — ”

“I’m leaving my food processor, my Dutch oven , my worn exactly once Louboutin over – the – knee boots , but I’m not leaving without my purse.” Rolling her shoulders to adjust the pack, she gave him a steady, challenging stare. “Doom or no Doom, there are lines, Max . There are lines.”

“Were those the boots you walked into my office wearing — with one of my shirts?”

“Right . That makes worn twice.”

“I’ll miss them as much as you .”

It was good , she thought, good they’d made each other smile before they left their home .

Year One (Chronicles of The One) by Nora Roberts

Comfortable Ignorance

Quote

Amazon.com

Morningdale. There were other things at that time. That awful television series, for instance. All these things contributed, contributed to the turning of the tide. But I suppose when it comes down to it, the central flaw was this. Our little movement, we were always too fragile, always too dependent on the whims of our supporters. So long as the climate was in our favour, so long as a corporation or a politician could see a benefit in supporting us, then we were able to keep afloat. But it had always been a struggle, and after Morningdale, after the climate changed, we had no chance. The world didn’t want to be reminded how the donation programme really worked. They didn’t want to think about you students, or about the conditions you were brought up in. In other words, my dears, they wanted you back in the shadows. Back in the shadows where you’d been before the likes of Marie-Claude and myself ever came along. And all those influential people who’d once been so keen to help us, well of course, they all vanished.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro