You've no fear of heights," puffed the girl. "None," I said. "I've heard that about you.

I poo poo the chit.' The attendant looked stunned. 'You cannot poo-poo the chit!' I do.' Kate said solemnly. 'I do poo-poo.' We'll walk.

Let me get you all some punch,” I said. “You're leaving us?” said Isabel, sounding panicky. “I'll be right back,” I promised. “If anyone comes near you, just scream and run.

You can't eat [literature], that's the problem," he said. "I've tried, it's very dry, and not at all nutritious.

Everyone watched, wondering if this could be the same lunatic who'd nearly berthed his ornithopter in the restaurant. I swallowed, for it seemed he was headed straight for my table. He pulled off his helmet and a mass of dark auburn hair spilled out. Off came the goggles, and I was looking at the beaming face of Kate de Vries.

Why do you need to fly so much?” she asked. “If I don’t, it’ll catch up with me.” The words just came out. “What will?” I took my hands from my face, panting. I stared out at the storm. “Unhappiness.

IMBECILE!" the chef shouted. "Next time why don't you just put your whole HAND in the food, hey? Yes, your whole hand, or maybe your FACE! I arrange the food on plates with care, are you understanding what I am telling you? It is part of the art form of cooking, yes? A lovely plate of food is a thing of beauty! And then you, NUMBSKULL, come along and put your fat greasy FINGERS all over my plate, and SHAKE the plate, and move my food all around the plate until it looks like pigs' vomit!" "Chef Vlad!" I cried out in delight.