I love Yuri. I feel like eventually you're going to make me regret that, but I do.
I love this, she dances, he recalls, as though each move might see her break when she comes down, frightening and fragile and fascinating. She is not, he suspects, meant for permanency. I love people who aren't afraid of sentences like that. I write like that. I talk like that, and I love that you do.
This whole world, as I'm sure you know, is amazing.
This story is fantastic and I think you know very well who my favourites are, so I'm just going to pick out this exchange as my favourite from the piece because I just love the crispsness of it and how well you make it fit in with the rest of your prose style -
She pulls back and shoots him a wry glare. “The only boots I had were Wellingtons,” she says, picking her feet up like an anxious horse and knocking one ankle against the other, scuffing off the worst of the snow, “and I left those back in England.”
“But why-”
“You take England for six months and then see how much of it you want to take with you,” she replies shortly.
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I love this, she dances, he recalls, as though each move might see her break when she comes down, frightening and fragile and fascinating. She is not, he suspects, meant for permanency. I love people who aren't afraid of sentences like that. I write like that. I talk like that, and I love that you do.
This whole world, as I'm sure you know, is amazing.
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She pulls back and shoots him a wry glare. “The only boots I had were Wellingtons,” she says, picking her feet up like an anxious horse and knocking one ankle against the other, scuffing off the worst of the snow, “and I left those back in England.”
“But why-”
“You take England for six months and then see how much of it you want to take with you,” she replies shortly.
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(Thank you, darling.)
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