The handkerchief dabbed at my forehead. 'Ouch! You'll have a fine-looking bruise tomorrow. ' 'Then you'll be able to distinguish me from Rose. ' The handkerchief paused. 'I could tell you apart from the beginning. You're quite different to each other, you know. ' Perhaps he could tell, in the obvious ways. The odd one was Rose; the other odd one was Briony.
And of course I'm a chauvinist, but it isn't my fault. " "It isn't?" "No, Jack was born first and I share his genes. I can't help it if he infected me inside the womb. " Briony burst out laughing. "I should have known that would be your excuse.
Briony began to understand the chasm that lay between an idea and its execution
I absolutely love you, Briony, and I am on my knees. So we're getting married - right? But say it fast before we get shot. " Only Jack would ask - if you could call it asking - in the middle of a battlefield, with a man lying dead at his feet.