[Jules] slides into a seat beside me with her hot lunch tray, sighing. “Four hours, thirty-six minutes, and twelve seconds till we’re out of purgatory for the weekend.” “Maybe later,” I murmur, still distracted by the day’s previous events. “So,… — Jodi Picoult Copy Share Image
And when you sigh from kiss to kiss I hear white Beauty sighing, too, For hours when all must fade like dew. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image