Let’s hope she’s like the others, who look only at the surface. Let’s hope she’d never think that a girl with black-velvet eyes and cut-glass cheekbones could be a witch.

Perhaps you should put your head down.” I knew this was the thing to do, although I’ve never fainted and I don’t intend to.

Father sighed. “Please spare me these arguments of yours.” “Whose arguments should I use?

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

It's strange how a person can have a distinct distaste for herself, but still she clutches on to life.

Blast Cecil!” said Eldric. “You have my permission,” I said.

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