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568 pages, Paperback
First published June 1, 1984
Enderly's mouth whitened and his grip tightened on the crop. "You'd like to taunt me into killing you with a blow, wouldn't you?" He turned to Worthy and dictated calmly as if giving an order to a tradesman. "Geld him."
Worthy dismissed the soldiers and began to strop a knife that resembled a medical scalpel. "Watchin' only makes it worse, lad. The sharper the blade, the less you'll feel. I'll be as quick as I can."
Worthy tested the blade against his thumb then took a position between the prisoner's thighs.
Suddenly, the spread-eagled man arched like a drawn bow, tendons standing out like crawling snakes as the knife sliced cleanly...
"You loose no barbs, Diana," Culhane replied quietly with strange, lyrical self-mockery, "but killing lances. If I am a husk and mockery of a man, why do my sides now run red? If blind, why do my empty eyes see a fair illusion that leads me to hope? Like that slackwit, I gape at love and rend it with clumsy fingers, yet still hold its tatters close in idiot hope it may live again. Solitary death is no more welcome than solitary life, so yet I stand and refuse to fall on my sword. It's you, fair Diana, who must lower me and all my bleeding dreams to dust."melodramatic, corny, and all kinds of awesome. what an experience this book was!
"No blow is needed," she answered softly. "You cannot stand forever."
"No, I cannot stand forever."
"I shall always hate you," she whispered, as gently as a kiss.
"Now, if you don't throw that thing, I'll take it away from you. If you throw it and miss, you're going to think the culmination of our last argument was idyllic. If you don't miss, my men are going to throw you off the cliff after giving vent to their irritation at losing the source of their income. So don't be nervous, and take your best shot, Miss Enderly; you sure as hell won't get another."
"My experience of brutality has come from you," she replied evenly, "never beauty, tenderness, or affection, because you don't permit them in yourself... How can I give you affection when you seek to wrench it from me and crush it as heedlessly as that boy might a butterfly, tearing off its bright wings to keep in his pocket, then startled to soon find them colorless and dead?"