You, um, don't … talk in bed?" I said, striving for delicacy. His mouth twitched, and he looked away. "No." We lay in silence for a few moments, examining the ceiling. "Have you ever?" I blurted. "Have I what?" "Had a lover that you talked to." He cut his eyes at me. "Yes. Perhaps not quite so frankly as I find myself talking to you, but, yes." He opened his mouth as though to say or ask something further, but instead breathed in, shut his mouth firmly, and let the air out slowly through his nose.
( Diana Gabaldon )
[ The Fiery Cross, A Breath of ]
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