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by Stephanie Meyer
p.29 The next day was better...and worse.
It was better because it wasnít raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit with me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that was flattering.
p.30 "I make the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator."
p.35 He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, heíd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I was a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.
p.39-40 Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain--until it melted in your socks.
p.53 When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.
It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.
I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.
A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasnít the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid--coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.
p.55 My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.
When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why Iíd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck--carefully holding the side for support--to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasnít used to being taken care of, and Charlieís unspoken concern caught me caught me by surprise.
p.167-168 "Perhaps something more private?" he insisted quietly to the host. I wasnít sure, but it looked like he smoothly handed her a tip. Iíd never seen anyone refuse a table except in old movies.
"Sure." She sounded as surprised as I was. She turned and led us around a partition to a small ring of booths--all of them empty. "Howís this?"
"Perfect." He flashed his gleaming smile, dazing her momentarily.
"Um"--she shook her head, blinking--"your server will be right out." She walked away unsteadily.
"You really shouldnít do that to people," I criticized. "Itís hardly fair."
"Dazzle them like that--sheís probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."
He seemed confused.
"Oh, come on," I said dubiously. "You have to know the effect you have on people."
He tilted his head to one side, and his eyes were curious. "I dazzle people?"
"You havenít noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"
He ignored my questions. "Do I dazzle you?"
"Frequently," I admitted.
p.197 "I brought the jacket for you. I didnít want you to get sick or something." His voice was guarded. I noticed that he wore no jacket himself, just a light gray V-neck shirt with long sleeves. Again, the fabric clung to his perfectly muscled chest. It was a colossal tribute to his face that it kept my eyes away from his body.
p.267-268 "You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" he began. "Some people love chocolate ice cream, other prefer strawberry?"
"Sorry about the food analogy--I couldnít think of another way to explain."
I smiled. He smiled ruefully back.
"You see, every person smells different, has a different essence. If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, heíd gladly drink it. But he could resist, if he wished to, if he were a recovering alcoholic. Now letís say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac--and filled the room with its warm aroma--how do you think he would fare then?"
We sat silently, looking into each otherís eyes--trying to read each otherís thoughts.
He broke the silence first.
"Maybe thatís not the right comparison. Maybe it would be too easy to turn on the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead."
"So what youíre saying is, Iím your brand of heroin?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. "Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin."
p.413-414 "Iíll tell you the mechanics of it," she said finally, "but I donít remember it myself, and Iíve never done it or seen it done, so keep in mind that I can only tell you the theory."
"As predators, we have a glut of weapons in our physical arsenal--much, much more than really necessary. The strength, the speed, the acute senses, not to mention those of us like Edward, Jasper, and I, who have extra senses as well. And then, like a carnivorous flower, we are physically attractive to our prey."
I was very still, remembering how pointedly Edward had demonstrated the same concept for me in the meadow.
She smiled a wide, ominous smile. "We have another fairly superfluous weapon. Weíre also venomous," she said, her teeth glistening. "The venom doesnít kill--itís merely incapacitating. It works slowly, spreading through the bloodstream, so that, once bitten, our prey is in too much physical pain to escape us. Mostly superfluous, as I said. If weíre that close, the prey doesnít escape. Of course, there are always exceptions. Carlisle, for example."
"So...if the venom is left to spread...," I murmured.
"It takes a few days for the transformation to be complete, depending on how much venom is in the bloodstream, how close the venom enters to the heart. As long as the heart keeps beating, the poison spreads, healing, changing the body as it moves through it. Eventually the heart stops, and the conversion is finished. But in all that time, every minute of it, a victim would be wishing for death."
"Itís not pleasant, you see."
"Edward said that it was very hard to do...I donít quite understand."
"Weíre also like sharks in a way. Once we taste the blood, or even smell it for that matter, it becomes very hard to keep from feeding. Sometimes impossible. So you see, to actually bite someone, to taste the blood, it would begin the frenzy. Itís difficult on both sides--the bloodlust on the one hand, the awful pain on the other."
"Why do you think you donít remember?"
"I donít know. For everyone else, the pain of transformation is the sharpest memory they have of their human life. I remember nothing of being human." Her voice was wistful.
p.458 My eyes opened to a bright, white light. I was in an unfamiliar room, a white room. The wall beside me was covered in long vertical blinds; over my head, the glaring lights blinded me. I was propped up on a hard, uneven bed--a bed with rails. The pillows were flat and lumpy. There was an annoying beeping sound somewhere close by. I was still alive. Death shouldnít be this uncomfortable.