She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial. “Poison?” asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side. “Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime unscented, now, can we?” “Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. “Certainly not.
Gail CarrigerHighland werewolves had a reputation for doing atrocious and highly unwarranted *things*, like wearing smoking jackets to the dinner table.
Gail CarrigerReally, Channing,” remonstrated Alexia, “did you have to eat the man’s dog? I am convinced you will experience terrible indigestion.
Gail CarrigerI miss him, my lady.” “Well, he is now living adjacent. You can hardly miss him all that much.” “True. But we are no longer compatible—I am a werewolf; he is a vampire.” “So?” “So we cannot dance the same dance we used to.” Biffy was so sweet when he tried to be circumspect. Alexia shook her head at him. “Biffy, and I mean this in the kindest way possible: then you should change the music.” “Very good, my lady.
Gail Carriger