Unharmed? What was it the captain of detectives had said about ‘scars’? I just didn’t believe him. The scars of my terror had been healed, wiped away, by this stranger who slept with a gun under his pillow, this secret agent who was only known by a number.
A secret agent? I didn’t care what he did. A number? I had already forgotten it. I knew exactly who he was and what he was. And everything, every smallest detail, would be written on my heart for ever.
Fleming, Ian - The Spy Who Loved Me
Despite the speed with which I read it, and despite my history of liking Ian Fleming's novels, I didn't really like this one. I'll have more on this in the upcoming review, but savvy readers might be able to guess from the first and last lines from the book why I didn't care for it.