I don't want it to be attributed to a loss of control on my part. When I throw you out of the window, I want there to be no doubt the act was deliberate.

Morfran thrust his axe straight up. He pretty much seemed to have one sign for everything: poke a hole in the sky.

I took the jacket off, changed my T-shirt for a dark gray tank top, slipped on the tangle of the back sheath, and put the jacket on again. Thugs are us. Great. Just add a super-tight ponytail and loads of mascara, and I’d be ripe to play a supervillain’s evil mistress. Ve haf vays of making you gif us your DNA sample.

I've read your summary." "And?" "It's not incompetent." Be still, my heart, so I don't faint from such faint phrase. "Did you expect it to be written in crayon?

We were screwed and he didn't even kiss us first.

Curran and I mixed about as well as glycerin and nitric acid: put us together, shake a bit, and hit the deck as we exploded.

If I lose control, you'll be the first to know." "I'm quite perturbed by the idea.