The blood dried on his good hand, he passed his palm over her hair. It curled about his wrist and sprung back into displace as the breeze fluttered by. In the firelight, it was golden like the dandelions of which shed spoken. The ones that had grown along the Franklin riverbank in late summer. The ones he had lost any faith in since hed committed his first murder there.
About This Quote
About V.S. Carnes
V.S. Carnes.
Themes
- Love — Quotes exploring romantic love, compassion, and human connection