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Witty Banter Quotes

Browse 24 quotes about Witty Banter.

Witty Banter Quotes

“Does he know? Or are you torturing the poor man?” “Torturing him?” Gwendolen said with genuine surprise. “Torturing him into thinking he is the only one in love!” “Oh.” Gwendolen sighed. “He is not in love with me.” She was not sure what he was. “At least, he has not said so.” “You sound quite sorry about that. Almost as if you cared.”

“She will at least be decently clothed as she waits. Tomorrow I shall find her a brush and powder and whatever else a woman of her dignity requires.” Fin rolled her eyes. “Is ‘dignity’ what you call it?” Jeannot offered her his hand. Fin took it and pulled herself up from the deck. She was barefoot and her pants and shirt were stained with everything from blood to oakum to lampblack. She stretched her shirt out between her hands and considered its mottle of stains. “I’m not dignified?” she asked. When Fin looked up, Jeannot had an eyebrow cocked high and one side of his mouth was curled in amusement. “Where you are concerned, much requires redefinition.”

“What kind of little sense? No sense, nonsense, or good sense? Good sense is highly overrated, don’t you think? Falling in love, for instance. It makes no sense at all. And yet we do it from time to time. ‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?’ and all that nonsense. Or is it?” Jasper gave an infuriatingly complacent grin.”

“He kissed her bottom lip, stroked it with his tongue. “You are so beautiful. When is the last time someone told you that?” “Hmm, I believe a gentleman on a London street may have suggested something of the sort,” she said, with faux sweetness. He loved her sauciness. “In deed if not word.” “He should have said it out loud,” Cross murmured. “In front of everyone. He should have shouted it from the street corner, to all who would listen. Cherry Lambe is a beautiful, beautiful woman.” “Yes, I’m sure that would have gone over well,” she whispered. “I can see the headline now. Duke draws attention to himself over infatuation with female journalist gone rogue.” “Infatuation?” he said, delighted. “Is that what you would describe this as?” He could almost hear her blushing in the shadowy room. “Well, I did not mean to presume…” She sounded wonderfully embarrassed. He lowered his lips to her ear. “It is all right, Mrs. Lambe. I assure you. It’s true. I am infatuated with you. Consumed, in fact.” Lovesick. Besotted. He could go on, but decided it would be unwise.”

“That depends on how trouble is approached. We came to you nice and slow, and voilà: you can trick nearly anyone into thinking you’re domesticated.” “Don’t talk about me like a dog,” he warns. “Besides which, you forget that I’m first and foremost a scholar.” “Ah, I see. You’re utilizing a rare branch of philosophy: the one founded on lying to yourself because it’s convenient.”