It’s fairly standard. Also, I’m fourteen. Also, your beard’s stupid.” “Isn’t this fun?” Skulduggery said brightly. “The three of us getting along so well.

You look angry," he said. "You put me on hold." "For a very good reason." "You put me," she said very, very slowly, "on hold.

I'm sorry,' said the shopkeeper. 'I can't understand your ridiculous accent.' 'My accent?' 'It is quite silly.' 'So you can't understand me?' 'Not a word.' 'Then how did you understand that?' 'I didn't.' ''You didn't understand what I just said?' 'That's right.' 'You understood that, though.' 'Not at all.' The American glowered.

Embrace your inner lunatic.

Dublin City was quiet when they reached the Waxwork Museum, as if it was holding its breath.

I have sought you out to cure me.' 'To cure you of what?' 'Of this cursed affliction.' 'I cannot cure stupidity.' Scapegrace frowned.

Don’t kill me,” he sobbed as he lay there. “Oh God, please don’t kill me.” “If you had let me finish,” Skulduggery said, slightly annoyed, “you would have heard me say, ‘Come out, we’re not going to hurt you’. Idiot.” “He probably wouldn’t have said idiot,” Valkyrie told the sobbing man. “We’re trying our best to be nice.” The man blinked through his tears, and looked up. “You’re... You’re not going to kill me?” “No, we’re not,” Valkyrie said gently, “so long as you wipe your nose right now.