Why, I’m just as true and honest as dirt. And I’m even more charming than dirt.

I--buy, and I sell." "You're a thief.

You are the Protector of the Small. You see real people in the humans and animals overlooked by your peers. There will always be work for you.

Oakbridge did his work with dramatics and prophecies that all would go horribly awry. Having dealt with him over midwinter, Kel wondered why the man hadn’t died of a heart attack. Instead he seemed to thrive on disaster and finding people seated in the wrong places.

I myself have noticed my growing resemblance to a daffodil.

I suppose he could have changed," Neal said dryly. "I myself have noticed my growing resemblance to a daffodil." The other pages snorted. Kel eyed her friend. "You do look yellow around the edges," she told him, her face quite serious. "I hadn’t wanted to bring it up." "We daffodils like to have things brought up," Neal said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "It reminds us of spring.

Oh, Daja," moaned Jory, "you sound just like my parents." She ran from the schoolroom. "Well, there's no reason to insult me, "muttered Daja, half offended.