Lord Maccon was built like a brick outhouse, with opinions twice as unmoving and often equally full of crap.

Ever since her trip with Alexia to Scotland, Mrs. Tunstell had rather a taste for foreign travel. Alexia blamed it on the kilts.

His lordship can eat my fat—

Floote, what is going on? Do they think I am contagious? Should I assure them I was born with a nose this size?

I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.

I may be a werewolf and Scottish, but despite what you may have read about both, we are not cads!

Follow that porcupine!