The evening became more and more tender, as if [she] were holding the glass bowl of the Ballroom between her palms and watching it fill slowly with a… - Jo Sinclair

"Listen to her," [he] said. "A voice like iron. That one will never rent or sell to them. They are more her enemy than ours, even. Remember...even an Italian has his Hitler." (chapter 3, p43)

The walls of Saturday moved in on him with a combined pressure of fear and relief, the walls of a confessional. And yet these walls were different, too, pressing as they did ever closer toward him. (Chapter Six, p195)

...again, it was the urgent, wholly understanding tones of love she thought she heard, even in the whisper. Her throat felt parched, as if she had sung along with one of her records for a long time. (book 2 chapter 5)