So this was a nest of radicals. She thought a hotbed of sedition would involve more gunpowder and secret handshakes, and less shuffling of feet and passing the sugar.

Everybody knew that books were dangerous. Read the wrong book, it was said, and the words crawled around your brain on black legs and drove you mad, wicked mad.

It did seem hard to be doing something heroic while everyone was too busy to notice.

Revenge is a dish best served unexpectedly and from a distance - like a thrown trifle.

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.

It was hopeless. She was flawless. She was a sunbeam. Mosca gave up and got on with hating her.

Making a wish is like saying, 'I can't deal with anything, I give up, somebody bigger come along and solve it all instead.