Which was why, some six hours later, Alexia Maccon's daughter was born inside the head of an octomaton in the presence of her husband, a comatose werewolf dandy, and a French inventor.

What’s wrong with you? Are you ill? I forbid you to be ill, wife.

Rail is such an undignified way to travel. All that rapid racing about. Floating has so much more gravitas.

And I find perfect beauty excessively boring, don't you?

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

A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.

Lyall understood a broken heart, but it could not be allowed to rumple perfectly good shirtwaists.