I began to cry. Barrons looked horrified. "Stop that immediately, Ms. Lane." "I can't." I sniffeled into my cup pf cocoa so he couldn't see my face. "Try harder!" I gave a great sniff and shudder, and turned it off. "I have not been her lover for...some time," he offered, watching me carefully. "Oh, get over yourself!

I have your word?” “You trust my word?” “You’re an idealistic fool. Of course.

The nerve. Threatening you and not being precise about it.

Life's not linear at all. It happens in lighting flashes. So fast you don't see those lay-you-out cold moments coming at you until you're Wile E. Coyote, steamrolled flat as a pancake by the Road Runner, victim of your own elaborate schemes.

She's thirteen. Time will remedy that.

Holy water at my wrists and behind my ears; my version of Eau de Don'tbiteme

How dare the embodiment of her worst nightmare come packaged as her hottest fantasy?