Claire?" he said, a question in his voice. I stopped, hand on the doorknob, feeling quite queer; he'd never called me by my name before. It took a small effort to look over my shoulder at him, but when I did, I found him smiling. "Think of the deer," he said gently. "My dear." I nodded, wordless, and made my escape. Only later, after I had washed-vigorously-dressed, and had a restorative cup of tea with brandy in it, did I make sense of this last remark. Its coming is a gift, he'd said of the white deer, which I accept with gratitude.
( Diana Gabaldon )
[ The Fiery Cross, A Breath of ]
www.QuoteSweet.com