People think me a sort of Florence Nightingale, but I have no heroic qualities. I simply don’t feel very much.

I hope you don’t mind my joining you,” said Leanne. I minded. After all, she’d tried to kill me. A girl in a novel would say it was hard to believe, but it wasn’t.

Actually, it would be assumed that the young lady had no such impulses at all, but I’ll tell you something: Chocolate melts on my tongue too.

You mind your tongue!” “Oh, I do,” I said. “I sharpen it every evening on your name.

Did I kill him?” I said. “No, miss,” said Robert. “Pity.

I explained we lost the porch to the flood. Father hasn't gotten around to rebuilding it, although he's quite a good carpenter. He says if Jesus was a carpenter, its good enough for a clergyman. But I don't remember that Jesus let his house fall down.

Witches don’t look like anything. Witches are. Witches do.