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“How many marks do you think you’ll get for treason?” “One from the Scholar to make my skin fairer, one from the Weaver to make me taller, one from the King to make me fatter, one from the Inquisitor to make me stronger, and one from the Warmaster to fix whatever it is he doesn’t like about me.” “Probably your general attitude. He gets at least a dozen offers of marriage a week; he doesn’t understand what you don’t like about him.” “Probably his general attitude.”

“Are you two you know?" Jacob pointed at us. " Together? Together? " I didn't get a chance to answer. Cam spun me around and kissed me, right there between the two buildings. It was no friendly peck on the lips. When our tongues touched, my bag slipped off my arm and hit the frosted ground. "Holy crap," Jacob muttered. "I think they're going to make babies.”

“My hair, then?” he pressed. “I know for a fact that someone stole the length I hacked off, because it disappeared from your washroom floor the way things magically disappear from washroom floors, and I caught a braid that looked suspiciously like mine at a stall in the Hearthenge marketplace by lunchtime.” I was holding in another laugh, biting my lip as Vidrol’s emotions exploded out of him. His agitation had been slowly climbing for weeks, but I had never seen him this bad. He didn’t seem to know what to do with the energy spilling from his skin. “Things don’t disappear magically from washroom floors,” Vale’s voice carried right through his chest and into mine. “They’re called servants, dickhead.”

“I have a feeling he’s aware of everything going on around him and that he’ll jump to his feet at the slightest provocation and kill whoever bothered him with that damn sausage. I wonder what my obituary would say in that scenario? Here lies Nicholette Bettencourt, who died from being whipped to death by sausage. Rest in peace. Then again, do the criminals here get obituaries?”

“How about I take you to my studio? Much less dangerous. Plus, I need a model and you could sit for me." "You want me to sit for a portrait?" I asked stunned. "Actually, at the moment I'm concentrating on full-length nudes, in the spirit of Modigliani," Jules said. He was making an effort to keep a straight face. "Just kidding, Kates. You're a lady." Jules was trying the guilt-trip method of attack. And it was working. "Ok I'll pose for you," I conceded. "But under no circumstances will any article of clothing leave my body whilst I am in your studio." "And if you're elsewhere?" he asked, breaking into a sly smile. I rolled my eyes.”

“But psychology is passing into a less simple phase. Within a few years what one may call a microscopic psychology has arisen in Germany, carried on by experimental methods, asking of course every moment for introspective data, but eliminating their uncertainty by operating on a large scale and taking statistical means. This method taxes patience to the utmost, and could hardly have arisen in a country whose natives could be bored. Such Germans as Weber, Fechner, Vierordt, and Wundt obviously cannot ; and their success has brought into the field an array of younger experimental psychologists, bent on studying the elements of the mental life, dissecting them out from the gross results in which they are embedded, and as far as possible reducing them to quantitative scales. The simple and open method of attack having done what it can, the method of patience, starving out, and harassing to death is tried ; the Mind must submit to a regular siege, in which minute advantages gained night and day by the forces that hem her in must sum themselves up at last into her overthrow. There is little of the grand style about these new prism, pendulum, and chronograph-philosophers. They mean business, not chivalry. What generous divination, and that superiority in virtue which was thought by Cicero to give a man the best insight into nature, have failed to do, their spying and scraping, their deadly tenacity and almost diabolic cunning, will doubtless some day bring about. No general description of the methods of experimental psychology would be instructive to one unfamiliar with the instances of their application, so we will waste no words upon the attempt.”

“Did you finish yours, Kota?" "Working on it now, Actually." "How's it going?" He sat up, turning in his chair and holding up his notebook. "I don't know. What rhymes with formaldehyde?" My eyes widened. Gabriel laughed, rubbing his fingers against his forehead. "Dude, what kind of poem are you writing?" Kota blinked at us. "It's about a doctor." "Does the doctor fall in love?" Gabriel asked. "No." "Does someone die?" "Not in the story, technically." "What does he do?" "He performs an autopsy.”

“Ewww gross! I can't believe you thought I'd copulate with him." I cringe. "Please don't ever use that word again." "Copulate? What's wrong with it?" I make a face at her. "Nothing, just... never say it again in my presence." "What about fornicate?" Ugh , this is why I don't want kids. Was I this annoying as a teenager? "No." "Coitus?" "No." "Intercourse?" I glower at her. "It's fucking. Making love if you're into that wishy-washy bullshit, and sex if it's meaningless. No other terms." "Not even boinking?”

“He is as good as anybody in this parish! He is very particular, too, about going to church-yes, he is!' 'I am afeard nobody ever saw him there. I never did, certainly.' 'The reason of that is,' she said eagerly, 'that he goes in privately by the old tower door, just when the service commences, and sits at the back of the gallery. He told me so.' This supreme instance of Troy's goodness fell upon Gabriel's ears like the thirteenth stroke of a crazy clock. It was not only received with utter incredulity as regarded itself, but threw doubt on all the assurances that had preceded it.”

“You're doing it again and it really annoys me. In fact, I will have to kill you now because I have a lot of untamed energy because of the Sex God. I'm going to have to give you a bit of a duffing up." And I shoved her. She said, "Don't be silly and childish." I said, "I'm not." She got up and started making her hair have more bouncability with the air brush thing again. I waited until she had got it just right (in her opinion); then I hit her over the head with a pillow. She started to say, "Look, this is not funn-" but before she could finish I hit her over the head again with the pillow. And every time she tried to talk I did it again. She got all red-faced, which in Jas's case is very red indeed. It made me feel much better. Violence may be the answer to the world's problems. I may write to the Dalai Lama and suggest he tries my new approach.”

“You’re lucky Vale didn’t make you strip completely. You can choose that option, if you prefer. It wouldn’t be the first time.” I grew still, searching his face. He was focussing on his task, his fingers making quick work of my laces. He was talking about my bath with Vale. “How do you know that wasn’t a completely organic moment of genuine friendship?” I uttered dryly. “Just two people, bonding over hygiene”

“My name," I tell Wilbur in the most dignified voice I can find, "Was inspired by Harriet Quimby, the first female American pilot and the first woman ever to cross the Channel in an aeroplane. My mother chose it to represent freedom and bravery and independence, and she gave it to me just before she died." There's a short pause while Wilbur looks appropriately moved. Then Dad says, "Who told you that?" "Annabel did." "Well, it's not true at all. You were named after Harriet the tortoise, the second longest living tortoise in the world." There's a silence while I stare at Dad and Annabel puts her head in her hands so abruptly that the pen starts to leak into her collar. "Richard," she moans quietly. "A tortoise?" I repeat in dismay. "I'm named after a tortoise? What the hell is a tortoise supposed to represent?" "Longevity?”

“How long does it take to make scholar?" "Varies" said Wendell. "But only one in ten make it." "One in ten?" "Well yeah, but you'll make it. I can tell you're smart. Most of my roommates have been smart. In fact all of my roommates have gotten through." Wendell smiled like he didn't mind this, and there was an orange puff of hurt that said he minded it very much. "All your roommates? How long have you been here?" Said Jinx. "Four years”

“You, my child, will marry well. More than once." (...) The lady retrieved the cards and shuffled them back together into one stack in an attitude of dismissal. Taking this as a sign her fortune was complete, Preshea stood. Looking particularly pleased with life, she passed over a few coins and gave Madame Spetuna a nice curtsy. Mademoiselle Geraldine was fanning herself. "Oh, dear, oh, dear, Miss Buss. Let us hope it is widowhood and not" - she whispered the next word - "divorce that leads to your multiple marriages." Preshea sat and sipped from a china cup. "I shouldn't worry, Headmistress. I am tolerably certain it will be widowhood.”

“This person stepped forward to fill our desperate need at great risk to her own health and life." "Well…" A guest of honor ought to tell the whole truth even if it put a dent in Billy's speech. "I had the pox as a kid, and someone said you can't get it twice." Coot Patterson rolled his eyes, then glared at her. "Nobody knows that for sure. Maybe it's true, and maybe it ain't. The point is, you stayed and took care of us when you didn't have to and nobody expected you to. Now shut up and quit kicking at the nice words ole Billy is saying.”

“Kalen (admin): What were you doing when the string appeared? Theodore: Platonic bonding. Mikel (admin): Isobel? The messages stopped there, and she swallowed, typing out a hesitant reply. Isobel: I’m not sure how much detail I’m supposed to go into. Kalen (admin): Jesus Christ. Did any of you follow the goddamned rules? Isobel: What rules? Oscar: Not a chance. Moses: No. Kilian: Yes.”

“You were at the party on Friday night, weren't you?" I didn't mentioned I'd followed him into the woods. He leaned back in his chair, his legs sprawled out. His boots nudged the bottom ruffle of my skirt. "Aye." Aye? Seriously? Could he be any hotter? Unless he had been looking for his girlfriend at the party. Not hot. "I was supposed to meet my cousin," he elaborated, "but I didn't find her," Hot again.”

“I’ll supervise,” Vidrol said, folding his arms and sweeping his gaze across the small clearing outside the hut. “As sovereign, it’s my right to stand by while people do my bidding.” “How about you bid me to break your ass?” Vale muttered, stalking past him with a shake of his head. Vidrol sighed, passing a hand down his face dramatically. “Not even my own brother can resist me.”