Author of quotes: Diana Gabaldon. Page 9

I again sat in the saddle in front of him, my horse we were about. I thanked Jamie for the help. He shrugged off my gratitude:
- Not at all, lady!
But for you it was risky, I said. - Unfortunately, I did not realize that endanger you your request.
- Ah! - he said it, but a minute later added with a short laugh: - Oh, do not you think me less brave than a little English miss?
Twilight descended, and Jamie let the horses trot. We hardly spoke on the way, and when he reached the castle, he left me short: "good night, Mrs. English!" But I felt that was the beginning of friendship is much deeper than that, which is limited to the light-hearted chit-chat under the Apple trees.

Like many people, I was horrified to hear the stories and the messages, comes from postwar Germany - about the deportations and mass murder, of concentration camps and crematoria. And just as many others did and will do for years to come, I asked myself: "How could people let this happen? They had to know they saw the trains, saw fence, saw the smoke. How could they stand by and do nothing?" But now I understand.

In school I, like all children, I read Dickens. And earlier writers, of course, also; remember not knowing pity the justice of the old times, harsh sentences to those who violated the law - the sentences did not take into account neither age nor circumstances. But read from a cozy distance of one or two hundred years about how hung or mutilated children is not something that pound of pot in the mortar, while a few feet below, something similar is happening in reality.

- How did you know... - I started, but Alec gave a derisive snort.
I only have one eye, young lady, but that doesn't mean I'm blind.

Jamie was right. Looking at these monstrous signs of violence, it was impossible not to imagine the action that left them. I tried not to think about that muscular arms were stretched out, spread-eagle and bound, copper-haired head was bowed in agony, pinned to the post, but the scars that I now looked, involuntarily conjure up a terrible picture. If he cried when they did it? I ran this idea immediately. I've heard stories that reached us from post-war Germany suffering much more terrible, but he was right: hear - not what to see.

- Do not you mind if I examined your back?
- No, you wouldn't mind - he even seemed a little surprised and a few seconds were silent, contemplating this. - Probably because you are somehow able to understand... in short, you sympathize with me, but don't feel sorry for me, and I understand that.

Alec knows who I am, so he knows that I was flogged, but the scars he saw. But knowing about something and to see different things.

Jamie responded by interjection, which I dubbed as the "Scottish snort" - an undefined sound that comes from somewhere in the depths of the larynx and could mean anything. In this particular case, it is, in my opinion, has expressed doubts about the probability of the desired output.

See, miss, it is very easy to be brave when you sit in a tavern for a mug of ale. It is much harder to have, if stuck on all fours in the frozen box, and musket bullets whistle over your head and the prickly Heather scratches the ass. But even harder to stand face to face with your enemy, when your blood is pouring all over you.

My child, you have the Holy seduced - and I'm not a Saint!

Writing is the art of the cannibals: the author takes a pinch of friends and enemies together, season them with a sauce of fantasy and long, tormented from all this spicy dish.

- Why did you do it?
What? he asked in reply, wiping his sleeve wet face. Gently felt the broken lip and winced.
- Took the punishment of this girl. Do you know her?
To ask was like to be awkward, but I had to know what lies behind this quixotic act.
- I know who she is, but never talked to her.
- Why did you do that? Why do it?
He shrugged and that movement made him wince.
For girls it's a shame that her risers in the lobby. It's easier for me.
"Better?" - I said in disbelief and looked at his bruised face.
He felt broken ribs with his good hand, raised his eyes and smiled at me a lopsided smile.
Yes. She is very young. It would be very shame to all who know her for a long time it would be a shame. It just hurts, but nothing special. Two days later all will pass.
But why did you? - I asked. The question clearly surprised him.
And why wouldn't I?
Why isn't he? I would say: because you don't know her. Because you are wounded. Because you need special courage to stand and face the crowd of people and getting punched in the face - regardless of what motives led you.

In older, simpler times to sleep in the presence of another person was considered an act of complete trust. If the trust was mutual, then the next dream was more intimate than a bodily connection.

- ... I woke up bound in a cart full of chickens drove me to Fort William.
You know, as gently as possible I said. - Excuse me. It was awful for you.
He suddenly smiled, and the expression of fatigue disappeared.
- Yes, chickens are very poor company, especially if you have to go long.