While my insides may be rotten, I still like a good reason to kill someone. It has to be either business, personal, or out of sheer boredom.

Even as she'd been writing it, she wondered if she was using too many exclamation marks, but she was glad she left them in. Nothing says "all is good in the world" like exclamation marks, after all.

By the time they got to Denholm Street, day had been beaten back and the night was soaking through the city.

We don’t need a cure,” the other zombie said. “That’s right,” Scapegrace nodded. “We’re happy the way we are.” “Happy with the power,” Scapegrace clarified. “Very happy, just the two of us, and there’s nothing wrong with us either. It’s very natural in fact. Nothing to be ashamed of—” “Thrasher,” said Scapegrace, “shut up.

Only a heathen would bring a gun to a sword fight.' And only a moron would bring a sword to a gunfight.

That's a shame. I'm sure somebody, somewhere, cares.

Is that it?” “No. That’s a wall.” “It could be disguised.” “You’re not very good at looking for things, are you?” “I’m good at looking for walls. Look, I found another one.