What’s that poem again?” Will, who had been twirling his empty teacup around his fingers, stood up straight and declaimed: “Each spake words of high disdain, And insult to his heart’s best brother—” “Oh, by the Angel, Will, do be quiet,” said Charlotte, standing up. “I must go and write a letter to Aloysius Starkweather that drips remorse and pleading. I don’t need you distracting me.” And, gathering up her skirts, she hurried from the room. “No appreciation for the arts,” Will murmured, setting his teacup down.

This is bad," said Jace. "You said that before." "It seemed worth repeating.

Her eyes met his, but she looked quickly away; entangling gazes with Will was confusing at best, dizzying at worst.

Henry," said Charlotte, who appeared to have recovered from her shock, "if you set yourself on fire deliberately, I will institute divorce proceedings. Now sit down and eat your supper. And say hello to our guest.

I didn't know you were bringing the mundane." His blue eyes flicked uneasily over Simon. "That's what I like about you people," said Simon. "You always make me feel so welcome.

I think I may be in love with you, Sophie," said Will. "Marriage could be in the cards.

Sweet pea?'" Alec said. "I was just trying it out." Alec shook his head. "No." Magnus shrugged. "I'll keep at it.