Excerpts from Nuria Monfort: Memory of the Disappeared. (1933-1955) — Shadow of the Wind, C. R. Zafón:

"A year after we met, Miquel Moliner confessed that he had fallen in love with me. I did not want to hurt him, but I did not want to deceive him too. It was impossible to fool Miquel. I told him that I valued him a lot, that he had become my best friend, but that I was not in love with him. Miquel said he already knew it."

"— You are in love with Julián, though you do not know yet." (p. 347)

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"It could not be him. According to my calculations, Julián would have been 32 years old, and that man seemed much older. His hair was already a little gray and an expression of sadness or weariness. He was excessively pale and thin, or maybe it was just the fog and my weariness of the trip. I had learned to imagine a teenage Julián. I approached that stranger cautiously and looked him in the eye."

"— Julián?"

"The stranger smiled and nodded. Julián Carax had the most beautiful smile in the world. It was the only thing left in him." (p.348)

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"We watched the rain in silence for a long moment. Then, when the rain stopped, I asked him who was P."

"— Penélope — he replied."

"I asked him to tell me about her, those 13 years of exile in Paris. In the dark, Julián told me that Penélope was the only woman he had ever loved." (p. 351)

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"I asked him why he had never returned to Barcelona in search of Penélope. He fell into a long silence, and as I searched his face in the darkness, I found him tearful. Not knowing what I was doing, I knelt down beside him and hugged him. We stayed like this, holding each other in that chair until the dawn surprised us. I do not know who kissed who first, not even if it matters. I know I met his lips and let myself caress without realizing that I was crying too, without knowing why." (p. 353)

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"Julián was waiting for me. He took off my clothes without saying anything and made love to me for the last time. When he asked me why I was crying, I told him they were tears of happiness. Later, when Julián went down to buy something to eat, I packed up my luggage and left the pen case on his typewriter. I put the manuscript of the novel in my suitcase and left before Julián came back. On the landing, I met Monsieur Darcieu, the fortune-telling old man who read the girls' hands for a kiss. He took my left hand and looked at me sadly."

"— Vous avez poison au coeur, mademoiselle."

"When I wanted to pay him, he denied it gently, and it was he who kissed my hand."

"I arrived at Austerlitz station just in time to take the midnight train to Barcelona. The clerk who sold me the ticket asked me if I was feeling well. I nodded and closed the cabin. The train left, as I looked out the window, I saw the silhouette of Julián on the platform, the same place where I had first seen him. I closed my eyes and did not open them until the train left behind the station and that haunted city that I could not return to anymore. I arrived in Barcelona at dawn of the next day. That day I turned 24, knowing that the best of my life had been left behind." (p. 354-355)