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Quote by Leila S. Chudori

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Laut Bercerita

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Leila S. Chudori

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“The infamous Debt-To-Income ratio is the standard formula most lenders use to determine a potential borrowers capacity. Lenders calculate this by adding up a borrower’s total monthly debt payments and dividing that by the borrowers gross monthly income.”

“It’s ironic perhaps – but no one wants to lend money to someone or something that has no money or no monetary worth. You wouldn’t plant a seed on barren ground – you plant a seed where there’s already a wealth of resources sufficient to cultivate the seed. It could be a tiny bit of soil in a pot, or the expanse of your front yard. But you’re going to make sure the seed has enough soil to put down roots and a quality of soil that facilitates growth.”

“Why, Dain Aetos,' I grin and walk toward him, then grasp the door handle at his side. 'You've seen me in swimwear, tunics, and even ballgowns. Are you telling me it's the leather that does it for you?' He scoffs, but there's a slight flush to his cheeks as his hands covers mine to open the door. 'Glad to see our year apart hasn't dulled your tongue, Vi.' 'Oh,' I toss over my shoulder as we walk into the hallway, 'I can do quite a few things with my tongue. You'd be impressed.”

“I'mnotgoingtothesibes.' So much for not slurring. 'Sibes,' I try again. 'SIBES.' Oh, fuck it. 'Mend me.' 'I will always mend you,' Nolan promises. 'Just. This. Once.' I concentrate on every word. 'If. The others. See I need. Mending. Allthetime, they'll. Think. I'm weak.' 'Which is why we have to use this opportunity to get you out!' Panic rises in Dain's voice, and my heart sinks. He can't protect me from everything and watching me break, watching me eventually die is going to ruin him. 'Walking out of here and going straight to the Scribe Quadrant is your best chance at survival.' I glare at Dain and choose my words carefully. 'I'm not. Leavingtheriders. Just so Mom. Canthrowmeback. I'm. Staying.”

“His tunic was unbuttoned at the top, and he ran a hand through his blue-black hair before he wordlessly slumped against the wall across from me and slid to the floor. 'What do you want?' I demanded. 'A moment of peace and quiet,' he snapped, rubbing his temples. I paused. 'From what?' He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. He sighed. 'From this mess.' I sat up farther on my pallet of hay. I'd never seen him so candid. 'That damned bitch is running me ragged,' he went on and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. 'You hate me. Imagine how you'd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. I'm High Lord of the Night Court- not her harlot.' So the slurs were true. And I could imagine very easily how much I would hate him- what it would do to me- to be enslaved to someone like that. 'Why are you telling me this?' The swagger and nastiness were gone. 'Because I'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk.' He let out a low laugh. 'How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and a -' 'You can leave if you're just going to insult me.' 'But I'm so good at it.' He flashed one of his grins. I glared at him, but he sighed.”