As with most things in life, Lady Maccon preferred the civilized exterior to the dark underbelly (with the exception of pork products, of course.)

Lord Akeldama sighed. 'You lovebirds, how will I endure such flirtations constantly in my company? How déclassé, Lord Maccon, to love your own wife.

Professor Lyall, cursing his Alpha for departing so precipitously, balled up the piece of paper and, after minor consideration for the delicacy of the information it contained, ate it.

I do not giggle without purpose. Lady Linette says you should never misapply a giggle.

What have I done thins time?" he paused to ask before continuing with his oral expedition about her body: her husband, the intrepid explorer.

She would have colored gracefully with embarrassment had she not possessed the complexion of one of those “heathen Italians,” as her mother said, who never colored, gracefully or otherwise. (Convincing her mother that Christianity had, to all intents and purposes, originated with the Italians, thus making them the exact opposite of heathen, was a waste of time and breath.)

As with most things in life, Lady Maccon preferred the civilized exterior to the dark underbelly (with the exception of pork products, of course.)