Very well, Lord Maccon. If we are going to play this particular hand, would you be interested in becoming my...” “Mistress?

I believe the defining moment was when certain persons, who shall remain nameless, objected to my fuchsia silk striped waistcoat. I loved that waistcoat. I put my foot down, right then and there; I do not mind telling you!" To punctuate his deeply offended feelings, he stamped one silver-and-pearl-decorated high heel firmly. "No one tells me what I can and cannot wear!" He snapped up a lace fan from where it lay on a hall table and fanned himself vigorously with it for emphasis.

Here, I stole it for you. Why don’t you tell me what it’s for.” “Aw, Sophronia, how thoughtful. You brought me a present!

These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended.

One should do what one is best at on as large a scale as possible.

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

A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.