Цитаты
»Så du bruger altså det meste af tiden på at prøve ikke at ønske dig ting, ligesom mig. Og af nogle af de samme grunde.« Matthews snefnugblik flakkede hen over mine kinder.
»Hvis du mener frygten for, at jeg ikke ville være til at stoppe, hvis jeg først begyndte – så ja. Jeg vil ikke se tilbage på et liv, hvor jeg bare tog alt uden at gøre mig fortjent til det.«
»På den måde gør du dig fortjent til det to gange. Første gang gør du dig fortjent til det, fordi du ikke bare tager det, og så gør du dig igen fortjent til det ved hjælp af arbejde og indsats.« Han lo bittert. »Der er ikke de helt store fordele ved at være et ujordisk væsen, hva’?«
"Magic is a Wish made into reality. That's how I got Notes and Queries off the shelf the night we met," I said slowly. "When a witch concentrates on something she wants and imagines how she can get it, she can make it happen. That's why I have to be so careful about my work."I took a small sip of wine, and my hand with the glass trembled.
"So you spend most of your time trying not to want things, like me. And for some of the same reasons."Matthew's snowflakes flashed across my cheeks.
"If you mean the fear that I would not be able to stop if I first started – then yes. I don't want to look back on a life where I just took everything without deserving it.«
"You've earned it twice. The first time you earn it because you don't just take it, and then you earn it again with the help of work and effort."He laughed bitterly. "There are no great advantages to being an extraterrestrial being, are there?«
»Luk øjnene og fortæl mig, hvad du kan lugte,« instruerede han med sin Oxford-lektorstemme. Jeg lukkede lydigt øjnene. Vinen virkede på én gang gammel og levende. Den duftede af blomster og nødder og kandiserede citroner og af en anden, længst svunden verden, som jeg – indtil nu – kun havde kunnet læse om og forestille mig.
»Den dufter af fortiden. Men ikke den døde fortid. Den er så levende.«
»Luk øjnene op og smag på den.«
Matthew suggested we sit down by the empty fireplace. I slouched on the couch and he came over and put some nut cookies on the table before disappearing into the kitchen again. When he returned, he carried on a small tray the ancient black bottle – which had been pulled up – and two glasses with an amber-golden liquid. He handed me one.
"Close your eyes and tell me what you can smell," he instructed in his Oxford lecturer voice. I obediently closed my eyes. The wine at one time seemed old and alive. It smelled of flowers and nuts and candied lemons and of another, bygone world that – until now – I had only been able to read about and imagine.
"It smells of the past. But not the dead past. It's so alive.«
"Open your eyes and taste it.«
»Vil du fortælle mig, hvad det er?« spurgte jeg med munden fuld af smagsindtryk.
»Malvasier,« svarede han med et stort smil. »Meget gammel malvasier.«
»Hvor gammel?« spurgte jeg mistænksomt. »Lige så gammel, som du er?«
As the sweet, clear wine slid down my throat, something ancient and powerful penetrated my blood. That must be what vampire blood tastes like. I kept my thoughts to myself.
"Will you tell me what it is?"I asked with my mouth full of taste.
"Malvasier," he replied with a big smile. "Very old malvasier.«
"How old?"I asked suspiciously. "As old as you are?«
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