I stepped closer still. He closed his eyes again and covered my hand with his own. 'You smell of violets. You always smell of violets,' he said. 'You've no idea how many times I have walked these moors and smelled them and thought you were near. On and on I walked, following the scent of you, and you were never there. When I saw you in the hall tonight, I thought I had finally gone mad.
Related Authors: Oscar Wilde C. S. Lewis Ernest Hemingway Hunter S. Thompson Paulo Coelho Carl Sagan Albert Camus