"Sounds like Perelandra, by C.S. Lewis. Or pretty much the whole of Genesis," L said, with a petty, derisive laugh. He'd read about Adam and Eve as a child, and hadn't been able to believe that men were meant to be naked retards who never questioned anything. "I hate to be insulted, like most people, but perspective is a wonderful thing... I'll read this one tonight, then."
Even though L could certainly read on his own, he loved to hear Blythe's voice. And watch her lips move. They looked so soft, and warm, and pink... like a living flower, he thought.
Tch. Those were beautiful words, he thought spitefully. And they'll always just exist in my head. Like a lot of other things, right now...
"Really? A Farewell to Arms?" L asked, impressed and a bit gleeful. The fact that she'd chosen that one, most likely based on the title after the author, said a lot about her character. "I love that one," he said quietly, deciding to test his theory. "In the title, the archaic word for taking leave, 'farewell,' is highly appropriate in its formality and wistful tone, while 'arms' is a play on words... it means 'weapons,' of course but also refers to... to embracing, which is a common gesture of fondness and affection. The Tenente and Catherine bid each other farewell so many times and find solace in each others' embraces, so I believe that the title is... highly appropriate. In many ways. Hemingway was a master, of the craft of using words one way, but sending them off with a hidden message." L stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Talking of embraces and such... she may not have even finished the book.
But, was it the next logical step? She'd touched his feet, after all.