Well, for future reference, this is my serious face.

Her father sagged as relief spread through him. “I thought something awful was happening.” She frowned. “Something awful was happening. It could have got stuck in my hair.

We're not robbing him," Skulduggery said." But I'm afraid I have some bad news." "Is it Deacon?" Francine asked, her eyes wide. "It is." "Is he sick?" "It's a little worse than that." She gasped. "He's dying?" "He was briefly dying," said Skulduggery. "Now he's dead.

Sanguine felt the ridiculous urge to reach out and poke him, just to see if he’d react, but he’d seen that kind of anger before. It was the quiet kind. The dangerous kind.

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

Are you going to shoot me?' Vengeous sneered. 'I wouldn't be surprised. What would a thing like you know about honor? Only a heathen would bring a gun to a sword fight.' And only a moron would bring a sword to a gunfight.

You said I was your number-one pick." "And you are. In our hearts. Alphabetically, though, Dusk comes before you.