We study there a lot because... what other choice does society give us, right? It's Starbucks or death, sometimes.

She was standing in the airport of Copenhagen, staring at a doorway, trying to figure out if it was (a) a bathroom and (b) what kind of bathroom it was. The door merely said H. Was she an H? Was H "hers"? It could just as easily be "his". Or "Helicopter Room: Not a Bathroom at All

One of them hung a pink bra from our lighting fixture. I left it there. It was a nice bra

Stuart must have sensed my despair from the way I began lightly banging my forehead on the table.

A pause while my mother made high-pitched sisterly devotions of gratitude.

You've never told me about your love life, Scarlett. You're a very pretty girl. You must have a boy shacked up somewhere for your personal delights. I'd bet it's a booky one, overtones of Harry Potter and a lot of black T-shirts.

She looks like a jumper to me. Jumpers do that a lot, stand on the edge and stare out. Never kill yourself in a Tube station. Tip number one. You might end up down here forever, staring at the wall." Stephen coughed a little. "Just giving advice," Callum said.