Then he reached into the breast pocket of his overcoat and drew out a flat 
package, wrapped up in mediatronic paper of spring wildflowers bending in a 
gentle breeze. Fiona brightened up immediately, and Hackworth could not help 
chuckling, not for the first time, at the charming susceptibility of small 
people to frank bribery. "You will
forgive me for ruining the surprise," he said, "by telling you that this is a 
book, my darling. A magic book. I made it for you, because I love you and could 
not think of a better way to express that love. And whenever you open its 
pages, no matter how far away I might be, you will find me here."