Tea is the magic key to the vault where my brain is kept.

Tea is the magic key to the vault where my brain is kept.

If you want someone to tell you what to think..." "You will never be short of people willing to do so.

My good lady,’ interrupted Clent, ‘are you telling me that he is not the Luck? That you have in some way obfuscated the chronology of his nativity?’ Seconds passed. A beetle flew into Mistress Leap’s hair while she stared at Clent, then it struggled free and flew off again. ‘Did you lie about when he was born?’ translated Mosca.

If you want someone to tell you what to think," the phantom answered briskly, without looking up, "you will never be short of people willing to do so." . . . "Come now," he said at last, "you can hardly claim that I have left you ignorant. I taught you to read, did I not?

Perhaps illnesses could be left behind, just like small, badly concealed china corpses.

In Mosca’s experience, a ‘long story’ was always a short story someone did not want to tell.