So there’s an . . . an etiquette to raking. Some seducer’s code of honor. Is this what you’re telling me?

It’s all right,” she said. “You’re through.” “Jesus,” he finally managed, pushing water off his face. “Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. For that matter, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John.” Still not enough. He needed to reach back to the Old Testament for this. “Obadiah. Nebuchadnezzar. Methuselah and Job.” “Be calm,” she said, taking him by the shoulders. “Be calm. And there are women in the Bible, you know.” “Yes. As I recall it, they were trouble, every last one.

Forgive me for speaking frankly, but after the past quarter-hour's conversation, I am unconvinced that any of you possess the sense or sensitivity to impart the news in any respectful fashion" - Amelia

Oh no. Don't smile. You'll kill me. I stop breathing when you smile.

No, no. Don't make that face. Every time I propose to you, you make that twisty, unhappy face. It wears on a man's confidence.

He had to feel those lips on him again. Had. To. This wasn’t a mild expression of preference. This was an imperative. His body was insistent. To continue his existence on this earth, he now needed the following: food, water, shelter, clothing, and Minerva Highwood’s lips.

Colin stared at the officer. “Thorne, you scare me. I’m not ashamed to say it.