Oh, Lady Maccon, I am unreservedly in love with her. That black hair, that sweet disposition, those capital hats.

Highland werewolves had a reputation for doing atrocious and highly unwarranted *things*, like wearing smoking jackets to the dinner table.

Really, Alexia, what could have possessed you to attach yourself to the side of the ship in such a juvenile fashion? It is positively barnacle-like.

I am entirely capable." "Of what, waddling up to someone and ruthlessly bumping into them?

Lyall had spent centuries nibbling about the great layered cake that was polite society while Lord Akeldama acted the part of the frosting on its top.

The vampire's eyes were open, and he was staring at her intently. It was as though he were trying to speak to her with simply the power of a glare. Alexia did not speak glare-ish.

His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.