But A Man Is Not Forgotten, As

Jamie," I Said, "how, Exactly, Do You Decide Whether You're Drunk?" Aroused By My Voice, He Swayed Alarmingly To One Side, But Caught Himself On The Edge Of The Mantelpiece. His Eyes Drifted Around The Room, Then Fixed On My Face. For An Instant, They Blazed Clear And Pellucid With Intelligence. "och, Easy, Sassenach, If Ye Can Stand Up, You're Not Drunk." He Let Go Of The Mantelpiece, Took A Step Toward Me, And Crumpled Slowly Onto The Hearth, Eyes Blank, And A Wide, Sweet Smile On His Dreaming Face.

I Felt The Tributaries Of His Veins, Wished To Enter Into His Bloodstream, Travel There, Dissolved And Bodiless, To Take Refuge In The Thick Walled Chambers Of His Heart.

Through Eons Of Living In A Land So Poor There Was Little To Eat But Oats, They Had As Usual Converted Necessity Into A Virtue, And Insisted That They Liked The Stuff.

I Thought The Force Of My Wanting Must Wake Ye, Surely. And Then Ye Did Come. . ." He Stopped, Looking At Me With Eyes Gone Soft And Dark. "christ, Claire, Ye Were So Beautiful, There On The Stair, Wi' Your Hair Down And The Shadow Of Your Body With The Light Behind Ye…." He Shook His Head Slowly. "i Did Think I Should Die, If I Didna Have Ye," He Said Softly. "just Then.

I Have No Objection To Well-written Romance, But I'd Read Enough Of It To Know That That's Not What I Had Written. I Also Knew That If It Was Sold As Romance I'd Never Be Reviewed By The 'new York Times' Or Any Other Literarily Respectable Newspaper - Which Is Basically True, Although The 'washington Post' Did Get Round To Me Eventually.